A Rose Among Thorns
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: "Belle is sitting up there with the person who loves her and not realizing it. And that would be someone you would not want to anger." Was a one-shot, now a story. Rumbelle. Appearances by Mad Hatter/Jefferson.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time. ABC owns it. Belle and Rumpel are not mine, either. Their characters are brought to life by the wonderful Emilie de Ravin and Robert Carlyle. **_

_**A/N: This was an idea that came to me when I was re-watching the 14**__**th**__** episode. The creators of the show had mentioned that "Belle is sitting with the person who loves her" and so it inspired me to come up with this scenario. **_

_**I hope you all enjoy it and will maybe tell me what you think of it afterwards. (=**_

_**A Rose Among Thorns**_

_How do you cure a broken heart? _An impossible question to answer when your heart lay shattered at your weary feet.

Belle solemnly peered into her nearly full mug, as if it might hold the answer. The pages of her books never detailed such a lifelong burden. The beast had always transformed into a handsome prince and true love reigned free.

_I almost found my happy ending. Almost, _she thought, replaying the moment in her mind when she had dared to lean towards her fearful, dark captor and place a modest, delicate kiss upon his lips. Licking her own red, soft ones, she could recall the taste of him still. Jewel-like eyes hid behind fluttering eyelids as she savored the memory.

It had all gone downhill after that, every last drop of hope draining and crumbling to pieces like the lost shard of the chipped porcelain cup.

Angry words, harsh resentment, a dull throbbing in her chest to signify the splintering of a most precious belonging: her heart.

_You will regret it. And all you'll have is an empty heart…and a chipped cup._ Such mournful words, indeed.

Belle sighed deeply, shoulders slumping miserably as she took a tiny swallow of her drink to drown her tormenting sorrows. It tasted as bitter as the pain that scorched her heart.

…..

In a dark, secluded corner of the tavern, a beast—for how could he be called a man?—watched the forlorn beauty, all the while hidden beneath the folds of a thick cloak. It contained spots of blood from troubles long past, but he could not think of that now.

All he saw, or cared to acknowledge, was _her_.

Without so much as a single blink, his cold, unforgiving eyes drank her in faster than the foaming, heady alcoholic drink sloshing in his mug. Memorizing every detail, for his memory did not do her justice.

Every inch of creamy, porcelain skin, velvety soft to the touch. Every rich curl of chestnut hair, the inviting fragrance teasing his nostrils. Every sparkle of her wide, wondrous eyes that understood far beyond her years. Every hint of an illuminating smile on her rosy lips as she conversed with the pathetic dwarf, the same that would later provide hospitality to one desperate, forsaken Snow White.

From here, he could listen to her beautiful voice as it professed the virtues of love. That voice echoed, matched with other words he'd rather forget.

She was rightfully his, was she not? But he had made his choice, had tossed her from the gloomy enclosure of his castle. He had stowed the chipped cup on the highest shelf of the cupboard, he had nailed the drapes in place once more.

He had harshly driven her from his castle, but it wasn't his fault. If she hadn't dared to kiss him, if she hadn't been foolish enough to allow that wretched Queen to poison her mind…

_Why did you come back? _

_At first, I wasn't going to…but something changed my mind. _

….would his beauty still exist in his castle, in his presence?

Golden-gray fingers curled around the handle of the mug as he mentally fought back the wall of disturbing memories that threatened to subdue him.

In the shadow of the cloak, his dark dangerous eyes returned to the lovely maiden as a shift in atmosphere descended around her. The dwarfs had departed, leaving the beauty all alone to her troubles.

As he watched, a malicious snarl twisting his crude lips, three drunken men swarmed around her, their clumsy, greasy fingers settling upon her fair skin. Touching her, taunting her, hurting her…

To react in defense of her honor would not bode well for him; he was not yet ready to face the inevitable agony and accusation that would flicker in the depths of those pure eyes.

On the other hand, the beauty was rightfully his—he'd told her it was forever and there was a point where he'd meant it. She would forever be his and he always made a habit of protecting what belonged to him.

…

Belle watched the poor, lovesick Dreamy leave the tavern with the other dwarfs, the heartache rapidly returning. _I do hope he finds his happiness and never makes the mistake of letting it go, _she thought as her traitorous mind revealed to her images of _him_.

Lost in thought, Belle did not hear the thudding footfalls of the three men until their muscular, meaty bodies flanked her on every side.

"Look what we have here," one of the men boasted as he leaned down to her level, his sloppy clothing and unruly beard filling her vision. Belle scrunched her nose; his foul breath stank of onions and alcohol. "Are you lonesome, sweetheart?"

Low snickers traveled between the other two men. These men were most certainly drunk and Belle did not wish to uncover the dishonorable intentions circling their minds.

"No, thank you," she replied, squaring her shoulders with confidence and holding the bearded man's cloudy gaze.

A second one slapped his heavy, sweaty fists against the table. Belle did not flinch. She refused to show fear to these men. Besides, she'd dealt with far worse.

"Just feast your eyes on 'er, boys! A fresh, fine maiden for the takin'. A rare treat in these here parts of the forest." The slurred drawl wrapped around Belle, the second man's moist mouth close to her ear.

"Please. I don't want any trouble—" Belle attempted to stand, but the third man's hands weighed heavily on her shoulders, forcing her back down.

"You hear that, boys? The little beauty don't want no trouble," the third man roared. The first man leered at her, his dirty fingers tugging on the loose curls of her hair. "Me thinks she don't enjoy our company."

The third man's hands squeezed Belle's shoulders a little too fiercely. The second man tilted his blond head at her, hungrily licking his chapped lips.

"Perhaps we should make her enjoy our company," he suggested while the bearded man fingered the buttons on her blue dress.

Allowing her fear and instincts to control her, Belle grabbed her mug and launched the liquid into the bearded man's face. Sputtering, the man stumbled away from her, wiping his eyes free of the burning alcohol.

Jumping up, Belle slammed the mug into the third man's jaw, sending him reeling backwards.

Her actions were feisty and quick, but not that quick. The blond one came up behind her and wrenched the mug from her grip. Hands curled around her arms and wrists as the men surrounded her, angry. Angry, drunk, and dangerous.

"You little witch," the bearded man hissed, droplets of alcohol staining his face.

"You're going to pay for that, I say," the third man threatened, his jaw already swelling. There was a smooth, silvery sound as the men brandished their weapons. Knives. Sharp, blood-stained knives.

"I say we play with her first," the blond protested, running his slimy fingers around Belle's waist.

"I say we flay her fair skin. Skin as pure and fair as that could be worth something," the third man replied, harshly grabbing ahold of Belle's chin.

"Please, no," she cried out, her arms trapped in the grip of her tormentors. _Please, someone help me! _But everyone in the tavern had turned a blind eye. The men inched closer until their bodies were all she could see.

"What do you say, boys?"

"Let the fun begin!" The men eagerly reached for her clothing, the knives coming a little too close to her skin—

"Get your filthy hands off her."

Belle's eyes shot open wide and she scoured for the one who had spoken. _That voice! I know that voice! _

The men turned to stare in confusion at a cloaked man, his face hidden beneath the hood. Belle desperately wanted to throw back that hood, to gaze into his eyes and know it was truly him. Somehow, she could sense the cloaked man's eyes watching her.

"Excuse me?" The bearded man challenged the mysterious figure, the knife at his side gleaming in the dim light of the torches.

The cloaked man never faltered. With swift, familiar steps, he traversed around the group like a vulture. Belle was reminded of another time, what seemed like ages ago.

_And the answer is…yes. I can protect your little town. For a price. My price…is her._ Belle's heart rose in her throat. It was him.

"You heard me," the cloaked figure shot back softly and the men erupted with peals of nervous laughter. The blond one narrowed his eyes.

"Tell me, is she your tramp? Well, I hope you don't mind, but us men are borrowin' her for the night," he retorted, snaking a hand across Belle's rosy cheek. She grimaced, craning her neck away.

"Oh, but I do mind, dearie. And I suggest you leave her be," the cloaked one's rich voice was tinted with menace and threats. Belle hardly breathed. If these men were smart, they'd listen. Except they did not possess one smart notion in their drunken heads.

"Or you'll do what? Kill us?" To this, the mysterious being did not respond, but Belle could feel the tension of power in the air. Fools as they were, the men turned their backs, chortling, and focused on Belle once more.

It all happened in a flash, before the men were given a second chance to blink.

The bearded man's skull connected with the table, making a sickening cracking noise. He fell to the floor unconscious, perhaps even dead from the brutal impact.

The third man's knife came flying through the air, but the cloaked figure dodged, sinking his own jagged dagger into the man's chest. Blood spurted in a crimson stream before he crashed into another table, breaking it in half.

The blond had dropped to his knees and crawled away, only to cower in the corner as his would-be executioner took careful, deliberate steps towards him, the dagger stained with the blood of his drunken friends.

Belle had collapsed onto the bench of the table and now shot from her seat. In an instant, she was tugging on the arm that held the fierce dagger.

"Please…don't kill him," she begged the cloaked man whose true name lingered on her tongue. He half-glanced down at her, the shadow of the hood shielding his face. "The man is drunk. He isn't in his right mind—"

"Seems to me he knows exactly what is going on," the figure retorted, inching closer to the trembling man. The blond curled in on himself, eyes boggling with fright, recognizing death. Belle kept her hand on his arm, insisting.

"Please…this man is a monster. He has no choice but to behave the way he does. You have a choice. Do not follow in his steps," she pleaded. Perhaps she was deliberately using her way with words to goad him, but the figure paused all the same.

_You are not a monster, _she had once told him. This was his chance to prove it. _Please… _

Abruptly, the figure gripped a fist of the blond hair and dragged the man to his feet, swooping in until the blade rested beneath his chin, a few drops of blood shed.

"If I ever catch you _looking _at her again…this blade will cut out your heart and you will watch as the blood pours from your body. Do we understand each other?" The blond man nodded, whimpering as he stared down at the pointed blade at his throat. A dark laugh escaped the cloaked man. "I'm sorry. _I didn't hear you. _Do we _understand?_" The blade sunk a little deeper and the blond screeched.

"Yes, yes! I-I'm sorry. It'll…it'll n-never happen again!" The cloaked man released the blond. Wrenching his boot back, he thrusted his foot into the man's chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

"I'll hold you to it. Now _leave_," the cloaked man demanded through what sounded like gritted teeth. The man half-crawled, half-stumbled away until he dashed out of the tavern. Belle could not stop gazing at the cloaked man.

"Thank you," she whispered, edging closer to him. One of her hands stroked his arm and the cloaked man wrenched it away, stalking past Belle and disappearing into the cold night. Belle stalled only for a moment before following him.

Once outside, with gentle snowflakes floating through the wintry air, Belle scanned the night for him. He was nowhere to be seen—it was like he had vanished into thin air. The snow beneath her feet was undisturbed. The silence of the night was taunting her. He was gone.

"No, wait! Please!" Her voice was carried with the wind, but it was no use. Hers was the only voice dancing in the night. _No, he was here. He was here. _"Rumpelstiltskin!" She called out to him desperately, her heart wracking in her chest.

The silence answered her—he was gone. Soft, slow tears dripped down her rosy cheeks, but still she smiled. _I don't want you anymore, dearie. _That was what he had told her in her dungeon.

Now, the pain of it was almost gone as well, for she realized something then. _You lied. You must care…or you would not have made yourself known to me. You would not have rescued me. _

Standing there alone in the snowy night, Belle imagined Rumpelstiltskin reminiscing about her as well.

This was the memory Belle replayed in her mind as she carried on towards her father's castle, as the Queen captured her for dark purposes, as the curse descended upon their world.

This was the memory she replayed because it meant that there could have been a happy ending for her. It was proof that her beast might truly have loved her once.

…

**Well, there you have it. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it. **

**Just so you know, the quote in the summary comes from the creators of OUAT. I tried to put the link for the creators' article in here (which contains the quote about Belle and insight into future episodes) but fanfic's acting up again. /= Still, pretty easy to find online if you search the quote about Belle. **

**Now, that review button is calling your name. Press it! (-; **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time. I do not own Belle, Rumpel, or the Queen. Everything belongs to ABC. **

**A/N: Hey there, readers. Recently I have been struck with inspiration and so decided to write a second chapter for this fanfic. Perhaps I will try my hand at a Rumpel/Gold/Belle fanfic. **

**I hope everyone enjoys it! **

_**Chapter Two **_

In a lonely, dark corner she existed, staring only at a blank, bland wall. There was no sense of time, no way of knowing what went on beyond those four walls. Day or night, it didn't matter to her. It was all the same, blending into each other until the world lay sideways.

The drugs only made it worse. As soon as they pumped the needle into her fair skin, her mind spun wildly and her vision blurred until her head lolled on the pillow, the silence blanketing her.

All she could do was huddle her knees close to her chest and dream. Dream of another world, a better world. A world that did not exist.

Vaguely, she could recall the day the doctors came for her, the day her father agreed to have her committed. _"For your own good," _he had said. When was the last time he'd visited her? Had he forgotten she was down here, shut away like a despicable rat pestering another cell?

Forgetting…it was something she was doing quite frequently lately.

She had forgotten so many wonderful things while locked in this hollow room.

She had forgotten the way the sun's golden rays warmed her skin—it was always icy cold in here. She had forgotten the syrupy taste of waffles in the morning and the rich creaminess of chocolate—only stale bread and lukewarm soup were served here. She had forgotten the musical sound of laughter on the wind—the shrill screams of the other prisoners became her lullaby.

Just the day before, she nearly forgot her own name. Isabella French. It tasted odd on her tongue, as though she were being mistaken for someone else. But if she were not Isabella French, daughter of the town florist, then who was she?

Outside, in the narrow dim hallway, there was a sharp clicking of heels. Her body instinctively tensed, her pale arms wrapping protectively around her. Lanky hair fell in front of her face as she turned her stiff neck to the cell door.

_She _was coming. Again.

There was a noticeable pause outside her door and then—with a blinding burst of light—the slat in her cell door lifted, revealing a set of dark eyes. Those familiar eyes observed her, watching her suffer.

At first, Isabella had always screamed and begged the woman for freedom from this wretched cell. Fists pounding against the door and walls until they bled. Voice echoing until it grew raw and raspy. What was the point now? The woman did not care.

The only thing Isabella offered the woman now was silence.

For a long, unbearable minute, the eyes studied her poor condition. Then, with an abrupt _thump_, the opening snapped closed once more, submerging her in the endless shadows.

Isabella lowered her tired head into her trembling hands, though she did not cry. Her eyes were forever dry, dry as the dust that caked the walls. Those walls bore down around her, sucking the life from her.

She needed to find a way out. Isabella needed to escape this dreadful place or else wilt like a delicate rose pressed between the flyleaves of an ancient book, forgotten to the world.

* * *

><p>It occurred in the darkest depths of the night, whilst the rest of the Enchanted Forest snoozed soundly in the security of their warm beds. Whilst only dark, unspeakable creatures roamed the woods, hunting for fresh, wandering meat.<p>

It was within a day of her encounter with the man who haunted her dreams. _Love is hope…it fuels our dreams, _she had proclaimed to the lovesick Dreamy. It did not hold true for her; love did not make itself known in her dreams, just the terrible heartache and the memory of his face looming beyond her reach.

_Rumpelstiltskin…_his name was never far from the tip of her tongue, though she did not dare speak it. It was not that she was afraid of his presence—countless months within his castle cured that ailment.

It was that she was undeniably afraid he would not heed her call, that he would not come for her. She was afraid he still did not want her, leaving her with a dull throbbing in her heart. And so she refrained from acting upon her desire of voicing his name.

With a soft padding of footsteps along the edge of the road, Belle journeyed her way in the direction of her father's castle. She was not sure she could ever truly call it her home anymore.

Swiftly behind her came the rapid beating of hooves. Peering around the hood of her cloak, Belle recognized the black horse-drawn carriage. It was the Queen. The one who had caused everything to go wrong, to fall apart as miserably as the chip in the cup.

In her mind, Belle replayed the beginning of that terrible avalanche.

_You did this. You turned her against me! _

_Who are you talking to? _

_The Queen! Your friend, the Queen! _

The carriage abruptly halted beside her, the whinny of the horses drumming in her ears. One of the valets opened the door and assisted the Queen from her seat.

Lacy black dress flowing around her curvy frame, ruby lips perfectly poised in an unreadable smile, the Queen was exactly as Belle recalled. The only variation was that Belle contained knowledge of her identity.

"So we meet again," the Queen remarked, taking careful steps towards her. Belle did not retreat—the Queen may have power in the palm of her hand, but Belle did not fear her. Warily she watched her, untrusting of the woman's true face that lay behind that disarming smile.

"So it would seem," Belle replied, a hint of suspicion in her otherwise innocent voice. The Queen apprehended it and faltered only for an instance, her footsteps slowing. With a tilt of her ebony head, the Queen grinned. _What is it that she desires from me now? What further damage did she hope to wrought? _

"Tell me, dear…did everything work out for you and your cursed beloved?" A puzzled frown touched Belle's rosy lips. The Queen sounded sincere, but what if it were a deception? At the mention of a cursed beloved, _his _face swam across her mind, haunting her.

"I regret to say it hasn't. The kiss…it did not change him," Belle solemnly offered. The kiss had _started _to work, but all of it had crumbled within seconds.

True love's kiss was supposed to break any curse…Belle had almost convinced herself that it was true love. Almost. Gently she rubbed her arms, the sore yellow bruises still tainting her porcelain skin from the way Rumpelstiltskin had shaken her, yelling at her. _No one can ever, ever love me!_

The Queen scowled and her face pinched with sympathy. Or was it an act? Belle was no longer sure as her bright, jewel-like eyes found the sliver of moon in the inky night sky. Was he staring at the same moon and thinking of her? Or was the wheel spinning?

"Pity. Judging by the lengths in which you've traveled, I'd say he rejected you, didn't he? He broke your heart," the Queen surmised, choosing her words carefully. Belle's throat grew tight with sadness as she envisioned that last painful scene in the dungeon.

_You've made your choice. And you will regret it…forever. And all you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup. _

"Do you wish to know what I think of this unfortunate tragedy?" The Queen broke through her muddled thoughts, placing a black gloved hand across her chest, over her heart. Belle did not answer—even silence could be powerful. "I believe that his intentions were not as they appeared. Despite such a cruel rejection…I believe this cursed man truly does love you, my dear."

Belle arched an eyebrow in surprise—she had been far too hurt earlier to consider another reason for his rejection. The only other time she'd doubted it was outside the tavern, in the cold snow, chasing after a man who had fled her. _You lied. You must care or you would not have made yourself known to me. He does care…doesn't he? _

"You really believe that?" Belle uttered, trying her best to understand this Queen, whom all else feared.

Her head dipped in acknowledgement and her lips grew, exposing a set of flawless, pearly teeth. One of the horses gave a loud snort and the Queen gently stroked its snout, almost lovingly.

"Yes, I do. Which makes you useful to me," she hinted coolly, waving her hand at something behind Belle. The Queen's guards laid their strong hands on Belle's shoulders. Adrenaline raced through her veins as she struggled, understanding that the Queen meant to take her captive.

The guards gripped her forearms and Belle attempted to kick, but it was difficult at the angle in which they restrained her. The Queen only laughed darkly at the rate of which she fought against them. There was nothing left for her to do…nothing…

It was then the idea hit her.

Before she'd been afraid of the untold consequences, but it might be her only chance of escaping the Queen's hold. Belle ceased struggling, the guards' grip only relaxing slightly as they registered her surrender.

Drawing in a deep breath, Belle only tasted one word on her tongue.

"Rumpelstilt—"

"Silence her!" The Queen roared as one of the guards clamped his sweaty hand over Belle's mouth before she could manage to finish. Belle bit down into the man's skin and he cried out, removing his hand.

Anger flashed in the depths of the Queen's eyes as she strode forward. The Queen whipped back her gloved hand and delivered a jarring blow to the side of Belle's face.

The world spun in a thousand different directions, a ghastly shade of red swarming her vision. Somehow, Belle had been released from the guards and her face connected against the cold ground, the sturdy black wheels of the carriage the only thing in sight.

"Place her in the carriage," the Queen bluntly ordered, the heels of her black footwear crossing Belle's blurred, confused line of sight. Hands wrapped around her waist and she was hauled up from the ground and stowed in the carriage like a sack of potatoes.

Tendrils of darkness clung to the edges of her vision as the Queen positioned herself on the opposite seat. A great lurch and the carriage was rolling, taking her away.

The last thing Belle registered was the faint smirk upon the Queen's ruby lips and then everything blissfully faded away into nothing.

…

**Poor Belle. You see, I was simply wondering what really happened to Belle when she was imprisoned…and here it is! (-; **

**Once again, I hope everyone enjoyed reading and will let me know what they think. I always love to hear from the readers. **

**I don't know about you guys, but I am looking forward to tonight's episode! Only a few more hours now…**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone that reviewed recently for this story! Every little bit counts towards my inspiration! (-; **

**I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter-I am also planning to incorporate a certain character into this story. At this point, the events in this chapter take place before episode 17 (in Storybrooke, anyway). **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

The dungeon was dim, with only a few torches blazing on the black stone walls. It was damp—there was a scattering of oily puddles—and the scent of must wafted through the air. It was tinged with a hint of rust. Blood.

The Queen strode along the corridor with two muscular, black-armored guards dragging Belle in tow. A throbbing, searing pain tormented her jaw where the Queen hit her, but she knew better than to complain. Her eyes drank in every miniscule detail as her mind raced for a means of escape.

"Here we are! Your new home," the Queen mocked as she stepped aside to gesture to a narrow, barred cell on their right. Bales of hay littered the stone floor and a rat poked its gray head from underneath, its tail swinging wildly through the straw.

Carefully, the Queen inserted an ancient key in the lock—Belle noticed a deathly carving of a skull engraved into the handle. If only there was a way to retrieve that key…

The Queen dashed Belle's hopes with a single wave of her gloved hand. The guards ambled forward, tossing Belle amidst the hay. The cell door slammed shut, the metallic clanging echoing in her ears.

Quickly, Belle leaped to her feet, wrapping her hands around the bars until the knuckles shone white.

"Please…what are you going to do with me?" The same question had been bluntly asked of Rumpelstiltskin, to which he had flatly replied: _go. _It seemed unlikely for the Queen to utter that word anytime soon.

Instead, the Queen swept close to the bars, her dagger-like red nails gripped the edges of Belle's chin. There was a warm substance—the sharp nails were inevitably lacerating her skin, causing her to bleed small droplets that pooled over the Queen's nails.

Belle gasped and dropped her hands to her sides. The Queen was in close proximity; Belle's hand slowly moved forward, eyes never faltering...

"What am I to do but keep you here? As for him…I plan to make him suffer," the answer came in the form of an icy tone. Gradually, the nails released her with the indents of half-moons marking Belle's skin.

The firm hand shoved against her chest and Belle teetered unsteadily on her feet for a brief second. Gooseflesh puckered her skin; the cloak had been torn from her body, leaving only her blue dress.

"But why? What reason do you have to make him suffer?" The Queen's skirts whispered across the floor as she paced restlessly before Belle's cell. The menace in the depths of those dark eyes sent a chill through her bones.

"Love is weakness," the Queen spat. "You, my dear, are _his _weakness. So long as I have you, I gain leverage over him. Despite his power…I can control him if need be." Belle desperately tried to understand this malevolent Queen.

Was there a shred of humanity residing inside her? A shred that Belle could find, could bring towards the light as she had done with her beast?

"No. It doesn't have to be that way. Love is hope! You must know that!" There was such detachment written in the Queen's beautiful, composed face. Belle could feel the resentment brewing beneath the façade, the notion that the Queen's mind was closed off.

"Silence!" The Queen's eyes flashed with irritation. "Was your cursed beloved foolish enough to believe your love was hope? Did he think you could save him, all the while he screamed at you with his contriving ideas? Did he ever promise you that he would willingly offer his world to you and everything he possessed?"

Belle studied the Queen with wonder as she ranted. It was then she understood the reason for the closed state of the Queen's mind.

"Someone hurt you. Someone you loved…your heart was broken, wasn't it? That is why you are refusing to accept love. It might not be too late—"

"_Enough!" _The Queen shrilly screeched, cutting Belle off midsentence. Apparently she had hit a nerve. "Or I will flay that fair skin of yours," she threatened menacingly. Belle slowly withdrew from the bars, the straw crunching under her feet.

A wicked smile suddenly curved the Queen's crimson lips.

"Enjoy your stay, Belle," she mocked, whirling on her heel. The guards loyally flanked the Queen in her ascent from the dungeon, the heavy door slamming with sharp finality.

All alone, Belle dropped into the pile of straw and hanged her head solemnly, the thick silence of her new living quarters consuming her.

In her head, she counted to one hundred. All was silent.

Then, Belle got to her feet and opened her clenched fist. Inside was a key with the carving of a skull on the handle.

* * *

><p>Never underestimate a desperate soul.<p>

Isabella was desperate, had been for quite some time. Her thirsty mind raced with no means of relief. Just four walls in her cell. Four gray walls to stare at and endlessly daydream of better things.

If only the nurse would give her a book to read. But no, nothing ever passed through the flap except a tray of food. Her door never opened unless it was a nurse carrying a needle.

Today, the menu consisted of a bowl of watery green soup, a single slice of wheat bread, and a paper carton of milk. The milk was not cold, the soup held chunky pieces of meat, and the bread was rough as sandpaper. Still, Isabella consumed it—her empty, endless stomach demanded it.

The pattern of footsteps faded down the hall. Isabella pushed her tray aside, perching on the edge of the stained, flat mattress.

Settling her bare feet on the icy floor, she cautiously approached the cell door. The flap opened twice a day—the first to give her food and the second to take the tray away. She studied the cell door curiously. Was there perhaps a way to open the flap?

The idea never occurred to her. But then, the flap was never opened with a key. Never was there a tell-tale turning of a lock. Just a lifting of the flap.

What would she do if she managed to open the flap? Isabella did not know, but the idea was tempting enough to prompt her to try. What did she have to lose?

With a spark of determination, her fists connected with the door, searching for any loose, vulnerable spot. Her fingers scrambled along the surface of the door, feeling for any indent that marked the flap that was hidden there. Pounding her palms flat, she willed the flap to open, to allow even an inch of light.

Her fingers struck an edge on the door. Kneeling, she examined it closely—part of the flap was crooked, preventing it from closing as perfectly as it was meant to. Experimentally, Isabella nudged that spot, her brow furrowing with anticipation.

There was a stiff grinding as the flap shifted beneath her fingertips. Surprise and excitement tunneled along her nerves. The flap _moved! _She had never felt so exhilarated since her time before this wretched prison.

The flap was difficult to prop open at first, but she managed to stretch an arm through the opening. Blindly, she found the lock on the cell door and her eyes widened. _The lock…a lock could be opened with the right instrument…_

Isabella brought her arm back in and she scanned her empty cell. Gaze landing on the tray, she hurried to retrieve her soup-crusted spork. It was a long-shot, but just maybe…what did she have to lose? Nothing.

Shoving her arm and the spork through the opening, she maneuvered the plastic utensil towards the lock. First she tried the handle, but it became clear that it was too thick to do much of anything. Turning it over, she worked to insert the tines…

A firm hand clamped down on her wrist and Isabella fought back a scream. The spork dropped from her fingers, clattering on the hallway floor. She struggled to wrench her hand away, but the stranger held it strongly, tightly in his grasp.

"You must be quite mad…if you think such a petty escape will work," he said softly, richly. The rough hand released her, causing her to fall back onto the gray cell floor. The man had grabbed up her spork and tossed it back into the cell.

As Isabella watched, the man kneeled in front of her cell door, his face filling the opening. He had a handsome face, but there was an undeniable glimmer in his eyes, one that spoke of someone who was harnessing dark thoughts.

"Please…all I want is to go home," she whispered, her eyes pleading with him. Her voice was raspy from disuse. It had been a while since she had last screamed.

There was a hint of pity in the man's eyes, a frown creasing his face. His fingers drummed against the flap, timing to the beat of her heart.

"So do I," he mumbled almost to himself. Isabella regained her footing and hesitantly approached the cell door. As before, she knelt and gazed intently at this man who dared speak to her without the mention of needles, drugs, and other horrid subjects.

"You are not a prisoner here. Where…where is your home?" The man was finely dressed in black jeans, a matching black and silver vest, and a heady scarf tied around his neck. A strand of his brown hair fell into his eyes.

"You're wrong. I am as much a prisoner as you are...except there is no escape for me. Not yet." His words were tainted with misery and Isabella could not help but feel sympathy for him. His eyes were touched by wariness, by too much horror.

"Your world…what's it like?" A sad smile lifted the corners of his lips. Isabella stared at him with wonder, like a child being told a mesmerizing story on Christmas night. He was the first to speak to her almost like a person. Like someone who mattered.

"It's not entirely pleasant…but I was happy there. Me…and my daughter," he replied. There was a distant look in his eyes now, as if he were reminiscing of other times. Isabella waited patiently for him to continue. Memories were sacred when they were the only things you had. "Grace…"

"It's a lovely name," she told him sincerely. His eyes snapped back to her, devoid of that far-away note. He studied her as though she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

People who stared at her like that were often wondering what was wrong with her, but it did not feel that way this time. It was like he had caught some connection that others had failed to establish.

"You believe me?" Isabella shrugged lightly.

"What reason do you have to lie? I can see it in your eyes…you're pained. You're lonely. I myself have dreamed of another world, a better world," she truthfully responded, longing to reach out to him. Would he pull away in the sense that she had a deadly disease? Or would he accept her comfort?

"You are not mad. You have an open, beautiful mind," he said, resting his fingers on top of hers. The gentle touch jolted through her body, shocking her. It was the first contact she'd had in…in an unspeakably long time.

"Thank you," she whispered, savoring the contact as best she could. For all she knew, it was the last bit of contact she'd have in this life. At least it was shared with someone who understood her turmoil. "Why are you here if you're not a prisoner?"

"I work here…as a kind of custodian. What choice do I have?" He seemed so forlorn.

"Everyone has a choice," she insisted, smiling kindly. The edges of her lips ached—she could not recall the last time she'd smiled, either.

The man returned her smile, though it was accentuated with a mysterious, almost mad curve. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and stood to his full height.

"Try not to lose yourself in there," he advised her as the flap came thundering down and the sound of his steps faded into nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I'm sure you can guess who that character might be...I always imagined him working in the psyche ward, given his FT name. <strong>

(-;

**Now a shout-out! Here's to DCdreamer55, moodymel, SqueakyDolphin6, Una Dougal, SheWhoMustNotBeNamed, and megumisakura for their awesome reviews! Thanks guys! **

**I don't know about you, but I certainly enjoyed last night's episode! Especially the Mad Hatter-he was far more interesting than I thought he'd be. He definitely had more chemistry with Emma than the Stranger. What did you guys think of it? **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, I do not own this series or any characters. ABC does. This is NOT for profit—just fun and a way to ease my boredom. **

**A/N: Hello, readers! The reviews were wonderful; I'm glad there are people out there enjoying this story. I'm simply doing it for fun and also because I cannot wait for the day Belle really does reunite with Rumpel. **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Four**

Belle learned rather quickly that it was impossible to perceive the activity of the castle. It was as though the world beyond the dungeon did not exist.

Was the Queen still lurking among the corridors, plotting her next move on the chessboard? Or had she left to complete other daunting, merciless tasks in the Enchanted Forest? There was no way of knowing when she would be residing at the castle and when she would next pay a visit to her prisoner.

She had given it reasonable time. It was now or never.

With a deep breath, Belle stuck her arm through the bars, the flame of the torches glinting off the ancient key in her fingers. Carefully, she located the lock and inserted the key, turning it experimentally until there was a sharp _click! _

Hesitantly, Belle placed her palms against the bars and lightly pushed. The cell door creaked open, allowing her freedom. An elated smile formed on her rosy lips. It had worked—all she had to do was find her way out of this castle and she could journey home! Home…

Belle suddenly frowned as she pictured Rumpelstiltskin attached with the word "home," his wheel spinning out more gold than he could ever spend. The Queen had told her that he truly did love her or else there would be no use of her. She wanted nothing more than to believe it.

Should she travel to her father's castle, where Gaston would surely anticipate the notion of wedding her? Or should she return to the Dark Castle and make him see, make him understand that a love between them could blossom?

Belle shook her head once. What did such troubling questions matter now? All she needed to focus her mind on was escaping the Queen's clutches.

Determined, Belle stepped beyond the threshold of her cell and ascended from the lonely, miserable dungeon. Never once did she look back.

* * *

><p>It must have been only a day or so later that the nurse escorted a new girl into the psyche ward. The girl was sniffling as she was led to the only recently vacated cell in the hallway.<p>

As the footsteps passed her cell door, Isabella eased open the flap and peered into the hall. The light was difficult at first; she blinked rapidly to adjust.

The girl was anxious, her bloodshot eyes wide as she stared accusingly at that well-dressed woman. The woman who always came and watched her suffer.

Isabella's eyes curiously roamed over the new girl, a twinge of sympathy slamming through her. She would not wish this fate on anyone.

Long strands of blonde hair, a thin frame, a wedding band on her ring finger. Her nose was red from rubbing the sleeve too many times across it. Tears streaked her face and she was limping, possibly from a recent injury.

Despite her disheveled appearance, the girl did not seem crazy. Just confused, as if she did not understand how she could belong here. But then why was that horrid woman having her committed?

"Please, you're supposed to be my friend! Why are you doing this to me? Regina!" The girl cried as the nurse stowed her in the cell. _Regina..._was that the woman's name? How could she lock away her friend without a care in the world?

Regina pursed her lips as she swiftly followed the girl inside, the nurse lingering on the threshold of the cell with an eager expression on her face. _What was going on in there?_

There was a shuffle of movement and the janitor's body came into view, though it did not block her line of sight to the girl's cell across the hall. Isabella nearly gasped in surprise.

"No fear. All I'm doing is making sure Witch Bitch doesn't catch you peeking," he whispered on one side of his mouth. Isabella's brow furrowed with surprise and suspicion.

"Who?" Isabella assumed he was speaking of the woman, though her brain was sluggish and mushy, refusing to cooperate.

"Never mind," he responded shortly, tapping his foot to a rhythm only he could hear.

A second later there was a bloodcurdling scream from the girl's cell. It ricocheted along Isabella's nerves and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"What is she doing to that girl?" The screams were ones of pure, raging agony, but Isabella could not help asking. _Curiosity killed the cat…_wasn't that the proper phrase? Her eyes stayed glued on the girl's cell door, waiting for Regina to reappear.

"Trust me, Belle, you don't want me to answer that question." Isabella sucked in a breath and nearly fell back in shock. For the first time, she switched her gaze to this mysterious man, whose face she could barely discern through the narrow slat.

"How do you know my name?" It had been a long time since anyone had addressed her properly. It excited and scared her at the same time.

It was curious—her father only ever referred to her as Bella, with an 'a'. This man called her _Belle_…and the name somehow rang true in her mind. It felt right, more so than _Isabella_.

The man's dark eyes never met hers-they were trained on the new girl's cell, the screams echoing along the hall. His lips were curved in a solemn piteous way, as though he did not enjoy playing witness to whatever was taking place.

Isabella's eyes dropped lower to the dark scarf tied around his throat. On the edge of it, she could just see the crooked, jagged tip of a scar. It reminded her of the crude scars on her arms and back, though she could never recall how she got them.

"Oh, I know a great deal more than that. Now is not the proper time. I am prepared to help you," he whispered, arousing her interest far better than the screams. Her eyes widened as understanding settled in her mind. This man was going to help her escape.

A doubtful thought prodded her brain-it was much too good to be true. It might as well have been another hallucination or dream.

"What am I to do in return?" This man must want something if he was sticking his neck out for her. A mischievous, almost mad, smile quirked his lips.

"You see...there are some people in this world who only do things for a price. I am not one of those people." The screams died down, the silence ringing in Isabella's ears. Her shaky breathing was the only sound to be heard.

"You said you know more. What is her name?" Isabella murmured, fearful that Regina would come flying from the room. The man flexed his fingers impatiently, his body becoming tense.

"Kathryn." A single name, two syllables. It was unfamiliar-she never knew a Kathryn. At least, not that she could recall in her time before being committed. "Close the flap."

The man's fist struck against the flap, forcing it closed and taking away her view to the outside world. In the hall, there was a rapid succession of footsteps and a slam; Kathryn's cell door, probably. The clipped sound of heels started up the hall. Regina.

The heels abruptly halted before her cell door. Isabella leaned away from the door for a moment, not even daring to breathe.

"Why are you hanging around here, Jefferson? Last I checked, you still had a job to do," her sharp voice reprimanded him. There was a shove against her door-had the man, Jefferson, been leaning against it?

"It seems I do. And I certainly plan to follow through with it," he responded calmly. It had the cold note of a warning and Isabella assumed he was no longer speaking of his duties on the psyche ward. Pressing her face against the door, she strained her ears to listen.

"Let me see her," Regina demanded and Isabella's skin grew cold. Why did Regina wish to see her again? Was she suspicious?

"Haven't you bothered the poor girl enough? Always staring into her cell like she were a caged animal at the zoo. Trust me, she's not going anywhere." Isabella sensed the lie there; at least, she hoped he was lying to Regina and not to her.

"Jefferson, do not make me ask twice. Get out of my way," Regina harshly ordered, her heels clicking on the floor. Isabella stood, prepared to lunge for her bed if the flap even moved an inch.

"As you wish," Jefferson complied, his heavy footsteps getting softer as he moved away. A low whistling started up-it took Isabella a second to recall the tune. _"Very Good Advice."_

Isabella had just sat herself down on the edge of her bed before the flap shot open, revealing Regina's cold dark eyes. As always, Isabella treated her with silence. _Thump_ went the flap again.

"Satisfied?" Jefferson snidely retorted. Isabella could only imagine the displeased frown on Regina's lips. She had the feeling it was a look that was not uncommon for Regina.

"I don't have to remind you to remember your place...do I?" The chilling note in Regina's voice froze Isabella on the edge of the bed. What if Jefferson got in trouble all account of her? How selfish she had been never to consider his well-being.

"Oh, I remember my place quite well, Regina," Jefferson calmly responded, apparently immune to Regina's bitter words. "Riddle me this: why is a raven like a writing desk?"

There was a profound silence and Isabella pictured the puzzled, tense look on Regina's face. It was truly a quip, nonsense in its best form. It was a question without an answer.

"Return to your work and stop playing maddening games, Jefferson," Regina snapped, her heels announcing her departure. Isabella sighed and slid against the cell door to the floor. Cool air flowed into the cell and she craned her neck to see the flap open once more.

"She's gone," he bluntly advised her. Isabella peered through the slit in the door. He was her key to freedom, possibly the only person she could place her trust and faith.

"How will you help me?"

"I'll make it work," he replied, tilting his head as he gently closed the flap.

Isabella returned to the stained bed and huddled into a ball, but this night was different. Tonight, she nurtured a newfound sensation that warmed her heart and bubbled within her veins. There was a simple word for it: hope.

* * *

><p><strong>For those of you that don't know, <strong>_**Very Good Advice **_**was sung by Alice in Disney's Alice in Wonderland (original). I was actually listening to Robert Smith's cover of this song (from the 2010 version of **_**Alice)**_** and since our dear Hatter is involved here…well, I decided to include it as a hint to his FT counterpart. **

**I hope everyone enjoyed it. Though, I should warn you…the Queen will likely not make it easy for Belle to escape. You'll have to see what happens! **

**Oh, and before I forget—shoutouts: **

**To megumisakura: Hey, there! You know, I really must not be paying attention lately because it only just occurred to me that you are also reading my **_**Sunshine and Rain **_**story. Well, thanks for reading this one, too! (-; **

**To 07Dwelling29In19Fantasy94: Thanks so much! Personally, I think Mr. Gold is screwing Regina over and will end up helping Emma get Mary Margaret out of this whole mess…but that's just me. (= At least, that's what I want to believe. **

**To Anne Andrews: Oh, yes! I absolutely loved the chemistry between Hatter and Emma! Mmmm…I might start shipping. Yeah, I always had the idea that Belle would be friends with Hatter. I like that idea very much, as you can see. **

**Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying my story! More good stuff to come soon, promise! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, readers! This chapter was bugging me a bit—I just kept rewriting it. I hope everyone likes it, though. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Isabella had just swallowed the last of her oozing green soup when the slat in her cell door burst open, a thin stream of light filtering across the dusty floor.

Something slid into her cell, resting just inside the opening. Placing the tray on the mattress, Isabella hurried over to inspect it. The curiosity of the situation got the better of her.

"I figured you might enjoy a story," Jefferson mused as he thrust the thin book into her waiting hands. "You seem the type to possess a thirsty imagination."

Isabella hugged the book to her chest before reading the golden imprinted words on the cover. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland._ There was a colorful illustration of a golden-haired, rosy cheeked girl surrounded by odd, fantastical characters.

It was the best thing anyone could have given her in such a miserable place.

"Thank you," she gratefully whispered to Jefferson, but he was already gone, the flap dropping into place once more.

Eagerly, Isabella positioned herself cross-legged on the bed and flipped open the book, brushing her fingertips lovingly over the smooth, crisp pages. A genuine smile graced her face as her eyes roamed hungrily over the beautiful pictures, the bold, large words floating in her mind.

It felt like a missing piece of her heart had finally returned to her. Her mind easily soared as she progressed through the pages, the musty, cramped space of her cell vanishing into the background.

Blissfully, Isabella escaped for a while into the mystical, nonsensical world of Wonderland. The end of the story came upon her much too soon.

Isabella cradled the book in her lap, the story lingering in her mind. For the first time since being committed, she had been offered a shred of happiness. She sighed with amazement.

And then she opened the book to the first page and began to read again.

* * *

><p>The castle was equal in complexity to a labyrinth. Every step Belle took, the corridor stretched endlessly before her. The windows offered a view of the scattering of trees far below and dawn was fast approaching once more.<p>

Still, she pressed on, believing there was a way out. There had to be.

The light filtered through in gray slanting strokes across the elaborate hall. Feet padding along the black stone and carpeted halls, Belle turned corners on a whim, her instincts driving her forward.

It was while she was crossing through an extraordinary, wide hall that she collided into him.

Painfully and with a low gasp, her body rebounded and sprawled across the cold floor. Jaw aching from the impact-it had struck the tender spot against the stone-her jewel eyes met those of a mysterious man.

"Forgive me," he mumbled, stooping down to offer her his hand. Only for a second did she stare at it before grasping, allowing him to swoop her onto her feet. Gingerly, the man lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"It was my fault, really. I was nearly running—" The man held up a hand to stop her and it lingered close by the rich waves of her brown hair. Brown, much like the shaggy strands of his own head. A small, sad smile had formed on his lips.

"Nonsense. Are you, perchance, late for a date?" A hint of curiosity marked the stranger's alluring voice as his head tilted slightly to scrutinize her.

"The Queen imprisoned me. I'm searching for the way out. I need to find my way back," she explained softly, wanting so much for someone to understand. Belle did not belong in this horrid, cold castle with the Queen's piercing glare watching over her.

Belle understood that there was little time to stall—if she wanted to escape, she needed to keep moving.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Back? Back where?" The stranger intercepted, sounding impossibly grave compared to the recently friendly tone. It was a drastic change that glued Belle to the spot in which she stood, guards and Queen be damned. _Back where? _

"Back…to the person I love," she instinctively spouted. It was true and undeniable—Belle's happy ending awaited in a most dark castle, at the golden hands of a powerful man whose wheel never ceased spinning golden threads. "Tell me…have you ever lost someone you love?"

The stranger's face pinched in thought, brow furrowing with concentration, dark eyes lost in a world that existed only in his head. Those fathomless eyes shifted with unmistakable sadness, making Belle's heart ache.

"Yes," he whispered, nodding once. His hand lifted tentatively, as if meaning to reach out and summon an apparition of the one he'd lost. It dropped hopelessly to his side. "My wife, Alice…it is because of my work that I lost her. Now, it's just me and my daughter, Grace."

"Grace…it's a lovely name," Belle sincerely told him, smiling reassuringly. The man's boot nudged the edge of a box beside him. Belle studied it curiously. "That box is enormous! What ever do you keep in there?"

A cunning grin slithered across the man's handsome lips.

"Trust me, you don't want me to answer that question." A distinct chill crept along Belle's fair skin. Time was slipping away.

"I must go…the Queen—"

"The Queen doesn't like to be disobeyed. Go," the man told her with the same pressure as Belle's recent caretaker. The single syllable echoed in her mind. _Go…I don't want you anymore, dearie…_

When…_if _Belle escaped this daunting fortress, she vowed to return to that castle and his arms. No matter his fierce stubbornness and supposed rejection, Belle would prove him wrong. The two of them cradled true love—it simply needed to blossom, if only he would allow it. Perhaps a basket of fresh straw would swing from her arm as well, as a step in the right direction.

"Wait," the man urgently called her back, removing something from inside his jacket. By the way it gleamed silver, Belle first imagined it to be a dagger. But, no. "I used this to see my daughter when I…traveled. It will show you anything you desire, if you only ask for it."

It was a delicate silver mirror. Along the edges of the glass were carved roses, their vines and thorns spiraling down along the handle. Belle gently touched a finger to the smooth glass, the aura of great magic rippling there.

"Thank you. It is beautiful," she breathed in awe, hugging the mirror close to her chest. Frowning, Belle held it out for him. It was much too precious an object. "I cannot take this. It means so much to you, I can tell."

The man's palm guided it back to her in rejection.

"I insist. Take it. If you never escape the Queen…at least you can see your love in some way." Belle's fingers traced the handle lovingly. Without a reasonable thought, she gratefully embraced the stranger before her, his otherworldly, velvety scent wafting around her.

"Oh! You never told me your name," she hinted lightly, pulling back. The man hesitated and then gave a half-bow. If he had been in possession of a hat, Belle was certain he would have tipped it to her.

"The name's Jefferson. And yours?"

"Belle." A musical laugh accompanied the name as Jefferson's eyes brightened marvelously.

"Oh, _beauty_, is it? Quite appropriate, if I do say so myself. Belle," Jefferson slowly tested her name, seemingly enjoying the way it rolled off the tip of his tongue.

Jefferson and Belle parted ways after that moment, never to cross paths again in that enchanted world.

Belle did recall their meeting often, with the silver mirror wrapped securely in her hand. Even if she did not manage to escape the Queen's deadly clutches, it was nice to have known another person for however short a time.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's that! Again, I hope everyone enjoyed it. I would also like to thank those that are taking the time to read my story and let me know what they think of it. <strong>

**Just a fun fact: I meant the mirror in this chapter to be similar (if not the same) as the magic mirror seen in **_**Beauty and the Beast**_**. **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello, guys! I've been writing a bit more for this story, so I decided to update again this week. Thank you for the reviews! I'm sorry for the lack of Rumpel/Gold. But, I have included him in this chapter. **

**With that news, I hope you enjoy the chapter. **

_**Chapter Six**_

_Three Days Earlier…_

_An empty heart and a chipped cup. Tonight I have both. _

Mr. Gold delicately traced the edge of the teacup in his hands, having recently regained it from Regina. His finger pressed down on the sharp chip and a drop of scarlet blood appeared on his thumb.

Posting bail had been simple enough—only to result in him sitting in the back of his shop, reminiscing. Those memories had been buried for so long that the freshly opened wounds hurt much worse than the experiences themselves. Closing his eyes, he could almost recall the way Belle tentatively smiled as she held the chipped cup for him to see. _It's chipped. You can hardly see it. _

This was_ not_ just a cup. It was the only thing he had left of her. _My Belle. _

Lost in thought, he almost failed to notice the footsteps in the front of his shop. At first he imagined it might be Emma, coming to remind him of the serious charges against him. But, no—these steps were too heavy to belong to Emma.

Still, his head remained bent, eyes downcast, strands of brown hair cascading along his jaw. His hands curled around the fragile cup, nestling it close to him.

The curtain billowed and then was abruptly swept aside, the rings on the pole screeching. The lean figure of a man lingered in Gold's peripheral vision, dressed head to toe in dark clothing. A scarf was tied around his throat.

Mr. Gold sighed as his fingers rubbed the handle of the teacup.

"Normally I do not allow customers into the back of my shop…except for special circumstances," he calmly stated, not bothering to glance up at the intruder.

"Oh, I simply figured this was where the darkest of deals took place," the man replied boldly. There was a confident air about him, bordering on arrogance as he took generous steps around. Occasionally, the man even dared to pick up an object or two, examining it before chucking it away. "Am I wrong…Gold?"

Jaw irritably set, Mr. Gold set the teacup on his desk and stood, finally acknowledging the man in his shop. Jefferson. The man who mysteriously resided in the manor on the edge of Storybrooke.

"What can I do for you…Jefferson?" It was a game that Gold could match well. There was power in a name—knowing that name can afford you power. Simple as that.

Jefferson scoffed, daring to glide close to the pawnbroker. As the Dark One, Gold had always thought _he_ had made a fine art of invading the personal space of others. Jefferson shared the same quality.

"All I want is that mirror," Jefferson announced, gesturing to the curtain that separated the back and front of the shop. The mirror in question was displayed in one of the glass cases, though it was much too pricey for anyone to buy. A most beautiful object, it was.

Mr. Gold casually folded his hands atop his cane, reveling in the power he now held over Jefferson. Power that he wielded over every single customer, no matter which realm. Price was everything.

"_Maddening_, isn't it? Desiring something you cannot have?" Slowly, Mr. Gold circled Jefferson, though the hatter did not appear intimidated. Amused, perhaps. "That girl, for instance. That girl you are so fond of. What was her name again? Ah, yes…_Paige_."

"Grace," the man growled, whirling in fury to face Mr. Gold. Gone was the amusement. "Her name is Grace." There was a raw desperation in Jefferson's voice. Pain flashed in the depths of his dark eyes.

Oddly, it did not surprise him this man remembered his true self. Knowledge could be a burden. _Maddening, indeed. _

Mr. Gold motioned for Jefferson to follow him to the front of the shop. The hatter hesitated only a second. Carefully, Mr. Gold removed the mirror from the display case, only to hold it just beyond Jefferson's reach.

"What will you give me for this mirror? It's a beautiful, nearly priceless object. Nearly," Mr. Gold emphasized, studying the silver mirror. "One would say it is almost…_magical."_

Jefferson spread his hands on the counter, eagerly leaning forward. Mr. Gold noticed the scarf slip an inch or two, revealing a crude scar underneath. _Seems as though someone has lost their head. _

"Trust me, I have something you want. Something you need. Something you thought was gone forever." Mr. Gold placed the mirror on the counter, frowning at the sudden shift of power. He despised it. Jefferson enjoyed it, smiling.

"And what object would that be?" Jefferson grinned like a genuine Cheshire cat, his teeth glinting in the dim lighting of the shop.

"Not an object. A person. Belle." The name rang out through the shop, freezing the breath in Gold's lungs. His mind raced back to the precious teacup sitting on his desk. _Belle. _

His first thought was: _He's lying. It's not possible. The Queen told me…_

_Exactly, _a logical voice argued. _The Queen told you. She is the one who lied. The one who hurt Belle. The one who took her away. Belle is alive. _

Mr. Gold licked his lips, regaining his composure. Jefferson laid a possessive hand on the silver handle of the mirror. _No, it is not possible. _

"Belle…" That name choked from his throat, strained with agony and longing. "Belle is dead." That was the truth—otherwise, Regina was going to be worse off than Moe French. Gold would see to it himself.

Jefferson shook his head once, edging the mirror closer to him.

"No, she's not. The Queen is a magnificent manipulator, isn't she? Always taking away that which we most love. For me, it was my daughter. For you, your true love. Belle is alive. Regina is keeping her locked away in a secret psych ward in the hospital."

Mr. Gold's throat grew increasingly dry as Jefferson handed him this information. Body growing tense, anger soaked his nerves as the Queen's mocking face floated in his mind. _Belle is alive. Locked away…not dead…_

"Nearly mad, the poor thing. Nearly," Jefferson imitated Gold, while the pawnbroker struggled to process this turn of events. Jefferson raised a finger, pausing. "But…if you give me _my_ mirror, I will help her escape. I will see that she runs straight to your shop."

Jefferson was not a bad negotiator. Not as skilled as Gold himself, but not bad.

_Belle is alive. Waiting. _It was all he could think in his head, the weight of its meaning leveling on his shoulders. What if this was a trick? _What if it isn't? _

Finally, Mr. Gold nodded, extending a hand.

"Deal." Jefferson accepted the hand, but dropped it quickly. Almost impatiently, the hatter's hands found the mirror, cradling it gently.

"Expect her arrival within a week or so. That is, if it goes according to plan." Mr. Gold's fingers gripped the edge of the display case. _If? Not a good word to use, Jefferson. _

"I expect it shall. No one breaks deals with me," he warned darkly, gritting his teeth. Jefferson half-smiled, taking note. Carefully, he tucked the mirror inside his vest.

"As I said…expect her arrival. Until then, I believe I have other plans of my own." Jefferson started for the door, Gold's piercing gaze burning into his back.

"Careful," the pawnbroker called out, voice lilting. Jefferson glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. Mr. Gold smirked. "Remember, dearie. All magic comes with a price."

….

_Present Day_

There were nights in the psych ward when it was much too loud to sleep, the endless screaming shattering the silence the moment her eyelids fluttered closed. Like nails scraping down a chalkboard.

Tonight was exactly the opposite. It was too quiet, every sound amplified by the ward's fearful blanket of nothingness.

Isabella's eyes grew heavy, but she could not sleep. Simply laid in bed with her new book tucked under her pillow, her finger tracing the corner.

In the middle of the night, a soft sobbing had begun. Just a small whimper or two from Kathryn's cell. Isabella had almost thought the girl dead; Kathryn had been hopelessly silent after Regina left. After she stopped screaming.

The sobbing did not stop. It became muffled, as though Kathryn were holding a hand to her mouth to prevent the cries from escaping. Curious, Isabella crept up to her cell door, though she did not open the flap. She didn't need to.

"Kathryn?" Isabella spoke the name softly, experimentally. It seemed louder than she meant it, due to the heavy silence in the ward.

The sobbing stopped. Isabella breathed slowly, listening. Was Kathryn afraid? Huddled in the corner? Did she think she was hallucinating the calling of her name?

"Who…who's there?" The voice was shaky and broken. A couple of sniffles now. Isabella licked her chapped lips—her throat was so dry. How long had it been since she'd had anything but lukewarm milk?

"My name is Isabella. My cell is across the hall from yours," she whispered. She pictured Kathryn being led by Regina, the desperate confusion in her face. _You're supposed to be my friend! Why are you doing this? Regina! _

"I…I don't belong here. Why is she keeping me here?" The sobs rose again, more intense than before. "Oh, God…if I could just see him one more time." Isabella slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold, hard floor.

"Him?" Kathryn paused.

"My husband. David. He probably doesn't even know I'm here. It wasn't going to work out between us, anyway," she explained sadly. Isabella felt sympathy for her. At least David had a reason for not visiting his wife—he was unaware of her situation. Isabella's father was well aware. He just didn't bother to remember her.

"You shouldn't worry. If you and your husband were meant to be—"

"We're not," Kathryn interjected solemnly. "That's the problem. David…he's in love with another woman. And that's okay, I guess. The way he looks at her…their love is special. Even when we first married…David never looked at me that way."

"I'm sorry," Isabella mumbled. Kathryn was entirely alone in this place. That wasn't fair. Regina obviously did not mind shutting her friend away from the world. A small, timid laugh.

"Don't be. Those two should be together. Have you…have you ever been married to someone only to realize that's not who you're meant to be with?" It was an odd question and Isabella puzzled over it. Something…something in the back of her mind nudged her, but it was too far away.

"No, I've never been engaged or married. And there was no one I ever truly loved before…" Isabella's words trailed off, throat closing up. _Before I was locked away. Before I was deemed insane. _"Kathryn…Regina is your friend?"

The cries quieted down, almost as if Kathryn were stopping to think. Isabella waited patiently. It was a skill she mastered in this forsaken place—waiting.

"Regina…I thought she was my friend. She's…cold and cruel…she's a monster," Kathryn blurted. She was hurt, betrayed. Isabella recalled the screaming after Regina followed Kathryn inside her cell. The woman just might be capable of anything.

"What did Regina do to you…when she went into your cell?" The silence greeted Isabella, thicker than ever before. Time passed so much that Isabella wondered if Kathryn had fallen asleep or simply chose not to answer. "Kathryn?"

"It hurt so much…and yet I'm alive…I don't know…" Kathryn was beginning to rant crazily, sounding almost like the other patients in this ward. Already the situation was wearing her down, breaking her.

"What did she do to you?" Isabella was tempted to open the flap, if only to somehow get closer to Kathryn. The blood roared in her ears, pounding through her skull.

"Regina…she ripped out my heart."

…..

**How did you guys like it? I'm going to try to include more Rumpel/Gold. **

**I also want to give a shout-out to those that have reviewed recently. Here's to megumisakura, Bluecanbegreen, Mizcamaro, and LaBelleRoseBleue. Thank you so much! **

**Can you believe we have to wait THREE WEEKS until the next episode? /= **


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hello, everyone! First off, I want to thank you for the wonderful reviews! Guess what? Mr. Gold makes another appearance. Don't worry, guys—those two will be reunited soon enough. I'm also glad you're enjoying Jefferson. _

_I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter!_

_**Chapter Seven**_

_Click, click, click…_

The heels echoed in the hallway, stirring Isabella from an uneasy sleep. Those five chilling words never faded from her mind. _She ripped out my heart. _

It wasn't even time for breakfast yet. Her biological clock told her it was much too early. Isabella yawned and worked a cramp from her stiff neck as the sharp heels abruptly stopped outside her cell. _She _was here.

What did she want with her this time? Was she going to stare at her again? Make sure she was still breathing, still miserable? Isabella waited for the moment when the flap would open and those dark eyes would scrutinize her for what seemed like eternity. But it never came.

For the first time since she was first imprisoned here, Regina opened her cell door.

Isabella imagined jumping up and running, possibly knocking Regina out of the way. Of course she wouldn't get very far. Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed, eyeing Regina suspiciously.

She was smiling. A wide, toothy smile that unsettled Isabella greatly. There was a tray in her hands—early breakfast. Steam rose from the food. It was hot for once.

"Glad to see you're awake. Here—I offered to carry down your breakfast," Regina said in a false sugary-sweet tone as she set the tray on Isabella's lap. Her stomach instantly grumbled, but she did not move to touch the food.

Regina was smiling. She had brought warm food. She was acting polite.

Regina wanted something from her.

Isabella stared down at the food, wondering if it contained some type of medication. Some type of drug to confuse her or make her hallucinate. Would Regina do that? _This is the woman whom Kathryn claims ripped out her heart. Drugging would be a piece of cake. _

Regina's smile dimmed and her black-heeled toes tapped impatiently on the gray floor.

"Well? Eat it. It's certainly not poisoned," she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Isabella's stomach growled again—she was starving. And the food smelled better than her other meals. Cautiously, she picked up the slice of bread and took a small bite. Savoring the warm, buttery taste, Isabella closed her eyes in bliss. _Oh, it's so good. _

"Now, I'm simply here to talk with you this morning. To _talk, _Miss French." Silence from Isabella as she chewed and swallowed. Regina frowned, nearly pouting. "The night orderly informed me that you were conversing with Mrs. Nolan last night." At Isabella's blank look, Regina sighed. "_Kathryn."_

A look of recognition flashed across her face as she bent over her tray, dipping her bread in her soup. It tasted even better this way.

"What were you two talking about?" Isabella did not answer. There was a dangerous note in Regina's voice. She did not think it was a good idea to talk to this woman. Not when she supposedly ripped out your heart on a whim.

Regina awkwardly stood against the wall, seeing as how the bed was the only real object to sit on.

"Have you talked to anyone else? Jefferson, perhaps?" Regina spat out his name as if she had little tolerance for him. Isabella liked him. Maybe Regina just wasn't good at making friends.

Finishing her soup, Isabella carefully set the spoon on the tray and laid the tray next to her on the bed. Her eyes avoided Regina's brooding ones, the sight of them making her uncomfortable. She was obviously upset now, those heels tapping furiously. _Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Nothing.

"Come to think of it, I haven't heard your voice in years. Why is it you won't talk to me?" _Because you hurt Kathryn. Because I do not like you. _"Is it because I'm not _mad_?" Isabella winced at the word 'mad'. It was another word for crazy. Insane. Loopy. Odd.

Regina's eyes roamed around the cell, her lips curling in disgust. Regina, with her flawless designer suit, healthy sun-kissed skin, and soft dark hair. Her eyes dropped to Isabella's pillow and surprise claimed her face.

"What is that you're hiding?" Regina pointed a long, red-polished nail to the pillow.

Turning, Isabella looked down to see a corner of her book sticking out. Her heart sank—she wasn't supposed to have books. But this one was special.

"It…it's a book," Isabella stammered, voice raspy compared to the richness of Regina's tone. The woman strode over and snatched it from under the pillow, sneering at the title. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland._

"I can see that for myself, Miss French. Who gave it to you?" Isabella's eyes widened as Regina opened to the first page. "Did Jefferson give this to you?"

Isabella kneaded her fingers together, cracking the knuckles loudly. Raising her chin, she defiantly stared back at Regina. What more could Regina do to make her miserable? Slowly, Isabella drew her mouth open, and—

"Who?" She tilted her head, feigning ignorance. Regina glared fiercely at her, fingers gripping the edge of the page. Suddenly, Isabella knew _exactly _what Regina planned to do to make her miserable. _Nooo! _

"Wrong answer." In one swift move, Regina tore the page from the book, crumpling it in her palm. Isabella watched with despair as Jefferson's gift—her lovely book of Wonderland—was destroyed. It was as though Regina really were tearing her heart out.

_Rrriiip…_There went another colorful page, gone. Heart squeezing in her chest, Isabella felt too numb with shock to move. _Rrriiip…Rrriiip…Rrriiip…_

Shaking, Isabella leaped up and tried to grab the book from Regina's hands. The beautiful pages drifted to the ground. Regina easily shoved Isabella back on the bed.

As she fell backwards, Isabella's hand clenched the book tightly. Regina tore it one way, Isabella the other. With one sharp crack, the book's binding broke in two. It was ruined.

"Isn't that a shame," Regina mocked bitterly, the heel of her shoe coming down on an illustration of Alice. Eyes fiery, Regina towered over Isabella's delicate form, throwing the remains of the book over her shoulder. "What is it that Jefferson's been telling you?"

She wasn't listening. She was trying to hopelessly reassemble the broken pieces of the book. Water welled up in her jewel eyes. It was gone. _No! My book! She's ruined it. My only happiness in this place. Gone. _

Huffing, Regina bent forward to snag a fistful of Isabella's lanky brown hair, dragging her upwards to face her. Isabella hissed at the pain in her head.

"Talk! Or I swear I will—"

"_Regina." _A velvety voice interrupted her, reprimanded her. Jefferson leaned inside the door, digging under his fingernails with a pocketknife. "If you have a problem with me, you can talk to _me_ about it. Leave the girl alone."

Regina gazed into her pale face and then harshly dropped her on the bed. Carefully, she smoothed down her suit, red lips pulled into a grimace.

"Miss French, it seems we're done here." Regina stormed past Jefferson, kicking up lost pages as she went.

Isabella huddled in the corner of her bed, much like she did a few days ago before Jefferson had given her hope of seeing the outside world. What if that was all gone now, with the book?

"Thank you," she whispered to her friend, if she could call him that. Jefferson dipped his head once before closing the cell door.

He would have to replace that book for her. Otherwise, the girl just might go mad.

* * *

><p>Nighttime seemed to be the only reasonable time that Jefferson roamed the streets of Storybrooke. It was convenient for the pawnbroker as well—fewer people around at night. The bell chimed, announcing the hatter's presence in his shop.<p>

"Back again, I see," Mr. Gold stated, lifting his head to gaze at Jefferson from behind the counter. He could not help the smirk that rolled over his lips. These moments were perfect—Jefferson was the only one who could tell him anything about his Belle.

Jefferson calmly approached the counter, shrugging.

"Thanks to the Mayor, I am in need of another book for the lovely prisoner," he said, drumming his fingers along the display cases. "Nothing like a story to make her happy." Mr. Gold turned away from the man, searching along a shelf for a stack of books.

"Indeed," he agreed almost solemnly as he set the books on the counter. In his mind, he recalled the way Belle would spend hours in the library, losing herself in tale after tale. For once, the pawnbroker was at a loss for words. Fingers clenching, he kept his eyes averted from Jefferson. "How is she?"

Jefferson eagerly sifted through the pile of books, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Maddening, isn't it? Desiring something you cannot have," Jefferson threw Gold's words back at him. Mr. Gold's hands curled around his cane. He imagined striking the hatter, _demanding _answers concerning his Belle. He had done it once. "She doesn't remember her past life."

"Of course not. The curse has affected her like every other citizen in Storybrooke," Mr. Gold mused, scoffing at the petty information. Jefferson paused over one particular book and smiled. He showed Mr. Gold the selection—_Beauty and the Beast. _How appropriate.

"So why not put the idea in her head? Maybe it'll knock something loose," he suggested, tapping the cover of the book. Mr. Gold's dark eyes gleamed with understanding and admiration. "Luckily, I can save you the trouble of making a deal. I have money."

"Too bad. Deals are my specialty, dearie," the pawnbroker replied, but accepted Jefferson's money anyway. Mr. Gold's hands lingered over the cover of the book. Soon _her _soft fingers would roam over it. He ached for wanting her.

Jefferson seemed to hesitate in leaving. His eyes appeared almost…sympathetic. When was the last time someone showed sympathy for him? _Belle…she was the last one who understood. _

"I will get her out of there. You have my word," Jefferson vowed.

Mr. Gold hid his emotions as he always did—he was nearly a master of it now. Inside, a turbulent storm of emotions threatened to subdue him. How he wanted to follow Jefferson down there, confront Regina, and take his beauty into his arms. How he wanted to apologize for throwing her from his castle—even if she did not recall it—and kiss her until it hurt.

"Your word means little to me…until you prove that you are trustworthy," Gold retorted, turning away towards the curtain. Jefferson took that as a dismissal and left the pawnbroker alone to his troubling thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, Regina…always ruining everything. Again, don't worry, readers! I do have a plan for BelleGold. **

**Now, a shout-out to my reviewers. Where would I be without you guys? Here's to megumisakura, LaBelleRoseBleue, Bluecanbegreen, Sheherazade's Fable, and moodymel. Thanks so much for reading! **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Guess what? I have a long weekend which means I'll be able to work on this story more. I actually have a bit of the next chapter already written up. **

**I want to thank the people who have taken the time to read and review my story. I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter. **

**Chapter Eight**

It must have been well past nine when Mr. Gold unlocked the door to his estate, mind still muddled from his latest meeting with the town's mad hatter. It was late enough that very few people roamed the streets and he could savor the quiet walk home.

Home…to a grand yet empty estate where loneliness haunted the halls. It wasn't such a drastic change from the Dark Castle, where most of his nights were spent alone in uncomfortable thought. Nights where the wheel hardly stopped in its rotation—_why do you spin so much?_—spilling out an endless pile of gold.

The main hall was dim, but Gold made no move to turn on any lights. He knew every inch like the back of his hand.

One by one, he ascended the carpeted stairs, but his mind was no longer tied to this pathetic world, hadn't been since Jefferson's presence in his shop. Instead, it wandered aimlessly to a time that everyone else in this town had forgotten, to the Dark Castle with its marble steps and nailed drapes.

Somewhere along the way, he lost his cane, the walking stick—_crash, as it sailed through the glass cabinet, the teacups shattering against the wall_—falling away from his fingers. Using the walls for support, he limped into the library—_what are we reading today? You've read this one already, Belle—_and slumped into a chair by the fireplace.

All sense of logic had evaded him; there was only one word repeating through his head. Simple, yet beautiful, having the tendency to roll off his tongue. _Belle._

Carefully, he retrieved the delicate porcelain teacup—_it's chipped; you can hardly see it—_that often rested beside his chair. Always it rested upon a book that was once blessed with the touch of her soft fingers. _It's my favorite. Far off places, magic spells, a prince in disguise…_

Head bent, Gold lifted the chipped cup into his hands—it was the only thing he could see now, but even that became eclipsed by the memories. Memories that taunted him endlessly, their cruel nails tearing open his stitched wounds.

_It's just a cup…all you'll have…an empty heart…you are not a monster…could I at least know you? _

Tonight he was not the town pawnbroker. Tonight he was that beast again, drawing in sorrow for his beauty. _Belle…_

His beauty, supposedly sitting in a padded cell due to the Queen's cruelty and he could do nothing. Jefferson swore he'd help her escape, help her run straight into his arms again…but tonight he could do nothing. And that was beyond cruel. That was…heart-wrenching.

His fingers traced the chip in the cup, his lips drawing into a thin, anguished line. Then, for the first time in a long time, something broke. His despair caused him to shed a single tear for her. Just as the chip pierced his skin and brought a drop of blood. Together the drops of blood and tear fell into the cup, mixing richly.

_Belle…_

Blood and tears—the only parts left of him that he was capable of shedding for her.

…..

_The dream was one she had multiple times, though it never faded in magnificence. Always it amazed her, filled her with such hope and excitement. It was her favorite dream out of the jumble she experienced. _

_An expansive, sunlit hall with ceilings that rose so high above her head, it made her slightly dizzy to study them. A set of grand stairs spiraled down to the marble floor and an elegant dining table was positioned in the middle of the room. A mirror stood off in the corner, draped by a heavy cloth. _

_None of these details, however, commanded her attention so much as the wheel spinning in the corner. And it was not so much the wheel as it was the person spinning it. _

_His back was facing her and the golden thread glittered as it piled among his booted feet. Spinning straw into gold…the kind of mesmerizing magic that only existed in fairy tales. _

_As she approached him, curiosity rising within her, the man paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. He was wearing a smooth leather outfit that barely rustled as he shifted on the seat. His appearance never failed to entice her; she found it oddly alluring. _

_His skin was a mystical golden-gray, his long slender fingers clashing with the sparkling gold strands. Lanky waves of dark hair brushed his shoulders, framing the edges of his face. His lips curved in an amused smile and an unmistakable gleam danced in his wide, golden eyes. _

_No matter what she did, she was drawn to him. She was not afraid. _

_"Right about time. I'm nearly out of straw," he muttered in a lilting accent, the wheel slowly starting to spin once more. _

_Her eyes watched as it went around repeatedly, almost as if she were being hypnotized. The man eyed her expectantly—was she supposed to say something? The words were there…coming…on the tip of her tongue…_

_"Oh, come on. Admit it. You're happy I'm back," she replied lightly, smiling as she circled the wheel and took a seat against it. The man leaned forward, his face within inches of hers. _

_"I'm not unhappy," he admitted, tilting his head down at her. _

_This scene felt right and familiar…but how? It was more than the countless times of revisiting this lonely imp, if that was indeed what he was. Sadly, she could never recall his true name. What was it? _

_"Why did you come back?" Puzzlement crossed his face as his eyes roamed over her. Confidence burned through her, confidence she normally lacked while moping away in her dingy cell. And she could always breathe in this dream; for once, she felt…alive. _

_"I wasn't going to…but then something changed my mind," she said, eagerly hunching forward on her chair. This was always her favorite part of the dream, one that she would savor with every cell in her body. _

_The man seemed dazed as she leaned forward, her lips nearing his own. Gently, pleasantly, her lips met his and it was as though a spark had started a fire in her heart. This was right, it was what was meant to happen. This was her happiness, sitting before her. _

_Her lips lingered on his for a moment before it broke. Wondrously, she observed the change that was beginning to descend over him—gone were the patches of golden-gray as the normal shade of healthy skin shone through. His eyes became a rich, endless brown, his hair losing its lanky, matted form. _

_The kiss was working, it was magic. Here was her prince, just like the fairy tales. _

_Slowly, his bright eyes locked onto hers, his fingers reaching up to caress her ivory skin. _

_"Belle…" _

_And just like every night, she was whipped from the dream and her prince was no longer with her to share her lonely existence. _

…

_Knock, knock..._

A low rapping jolted Isabella from a deep sleep. Neck stiff and clumpy hair plastered to her face, she sat up and watched as the flap opened.

It was Jefferson, checking up on her. Hope coursed through her-she had begun looking forward to the moments when he visited her, for he had sworn to help her. Every day that he was there was another day that she was closer to the outside world.

"Got something for you," he hinted, kneeling so that his face was in view. Yawning, Isabella stumbled to the cell door and copied him by kneeling.

Before she could ask, a thin piece of paper slid through the flap to her. Isabella hurried to take it; a folded map of Storybrooke.

"I'm guessing it's been a while since you've seen our fair town," Jefferson surmised, standing to full height, leaving only his legs in view. He was keeping watch, in case a nurse showed up.

"Yes, it has," she admitted, clutching the map to her chest. Sliding to the floor, Isabella opened it and spread it on the dusty, gray ground. _Oh, yes, _she thought as she began to recognize the layout. _There is my father's flower shop…and the diner…and the library…_

"I've made a suggestion on the map. Memorize the route as fast as you can," he instructed, wasting no time. There was a soft whooshing noise as he repeatedly switched open a pocketknife, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

Isabella did not need to be told twice-instantly she found the circled marking on the map. It represented a building in town. Beneath it read "_Mr. Gold's Antiques." _

A pawnshop.

Isabella's brow furrowed with puzzlement. That was her goal? A pawnshop? What importance did it have?

"But why-"

"Listen, Belle. That pawnshop is easily the safest place on the map. You reach that shop and I guarantee you won't be coming back here." He sounded so sure, so confident. It swelled within her heart, the desire to trust him great.

Isabella's fingers gripped the edges of the map as she scanned the route from the hospital to that shop.

"The hospital is surrounded by the woods. You'll want to lose any pursuers there. They'll have to track through the forest and it'll give you more time." Intense gratitude flowed through Isabella, nearly bringing her to tears.

"Thank you," she whispered to him. It was quiet a long time and she began to wonder if he'd heard her.

"No matter. Just do me a favor once you get out," he requested, his body half-turning toward the cell door. Isabella waited, but the rest never came.

"What is the favor?"

"Never come back," he firmly told her. Isabella could not be any more complacent with this favor. She had no intention of coming back if she could help it. "And whatever you do..._do not go home. _They'll be expecting it."

Silence ensued as she retraced the route with her finger again and again. _Into the woods...down this street...turn...main street...pawnshop...again..._

"What happens if I am unable to reach the pawnshop?" Isabella did not want to seem afraid, but her voice broke. It was a possibility that she would not get as far as she liked. Jefferson sighed.

"That pawnshop will be your only hope of escaping Regina's grasp. Therefore, I expect you to do everything you can to reach it." Isabella nodded, though he couldn't very well see the gesture. A willful feeling of not wanting to disappoint him took over. This was her chance-her chance to be brave.

Isabella closed her eyes and pictured the map in her head. She pictured her finger tracing over the route repeatedly. It was burned into her mind.

"Alright, I've memorized it," she said, crumpling up the map in her hands. Jefferson turned, his hands coming to rest on the edges of the opening.

"Wonderful. Now rip it to shreds," he ordered. Isabella hesitated only a second before tearing the map in two. She tore it again and again until she had a little pile of confetti on her lap. "Stuff it under the mattress or something."

Isabella carefully piled the confetti in her hands and shoved it beneath her stained bed, tucking the pieces in so that none would stick out when Regina came to visit again.

"I promise...you won't see me in this cell again," she softly called to him. She could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"I know I won't. Because if you come back, I won't be here to help you a second time." Isabella pulled herself onto her bed and paused to consider this. "Understood?"

"You...you're leaving?"

"No, not just leaving," he assured her as the flap closed and drenched her cell in the midnight shadows. Through the door she could just make out his heavy breathing and the words that swiftly followed. "I'm going home."

…

Isabella awoke with a thin smile the next morning. She held her secret close to her—she was going to escape this place. She was going to find her happiness.

Leisurely, she stretched, her internal biological clock telling her that it was early. The nurses had yet to come with the food and needles.

Isabella perched on the edge of her bed. Had it been a dream? Curiously, she stuck her fingers under the mattress and found the scraps of map lying there. No, it had been real. She was leaving, just like Jefferson.

It was then she noticed the small white slip of paper on her cell floor. It looked like it had fallen through the flap and had settled among the cold gray ground.

Brow furrowing with confusion, Isabella set her bare feet on the chilly ground and hurried over to it. It was quiet this morning—no screaming, no heavy breathing, no clicking of sharp heels.

Gingerly, Isabella picked the paper up with two of her fingers and turned it over. On the other side were a few lines of writing, written in a neat, elegant hand. It sent the reminder of her hope surging forward once more.

_**Tonight. **_

_**Never come back. **_

_**-J**_

_**P.S. Sometimes the illusion of madness can be nearly as effective as madness itself. **_

Isabella smiled sadly upon understanding that Jefferson was gone. This was his final note, to serve as a reminder of the task ahead. _Illusion of madness? _

From under her mattress, she removed the wonderful new book he had given her. _Beauty and the Beast_—this story was better than the last. It was a pity she'd have to leave it behind, though she had nearly every page memorized from hours of poring over it.

Carefully, she slipped Jefferson's note in between the first few pages. There was no way she could consider tearing it up.

Tucking the book back under the mattress, Isabella reclined on her bed and closed her eyes. Despite knowing he was gone, the corners of her lips lifted into a bright smile. She was happy for him, assuming he had found his world once more.

At least one of them had managed to find their way home. _Tonight. It's now or never. _

…..

**Yes—she is about to make her escape. Don't worry—I've gotten the majority of it written up already. (= **

**Now, I want to thank my reviewers—the support and comments mean a great deal to me. So, thank you anne andrews, bluecanbegreen, LaRoseBleue, cuterosr1817, Skylie XD, and vcatrashfiend. You guys rock! **


	9. Chapter 9

_**AN: Well, I think it's about time Belle got out of that horrible cell, don't you? Enjoy the next chapter, everyone! **_

_**Chapter Nine**_

It was like a morgue in the psych ward that night, which it might as well be considering the catatonic state of most of the inmates. Some of them had lost touch with reality years ago, living comfortably inside other worlds they created in their heads. Occasionally there was screaming and that was always the hardest to block out without subduing the patient.

The nurse on duty was casually flipping through an old magazine, a pinched frown on her strained face, when it first happened. The silence of the ward was broken without warning as one of the patients unleashed a blood-curdling scream.

Startled, the nurse jumped to her feet, earning herself a nice paper-cut on her middle finger. The crimson blood dripped onto the glossy pages like red ink.

"Damn," the nurse hissed, rummaging through the desk for a Band-Aid. All the while, the patient screamed, never seemingly running out of air. Just went on screaming bloody murder.

It wouldn't have been a problem—except it was that special girl, the one the Mayor requested she keep tabs on for mysterious reasons. That girl never screamed anymore; she was nearly silent as a mouse inside her cell. Rarely there was an episode from her.

_Well, she's certainly screaming tonight. Guess the madness finally caught up with her. About time, too. _

Sighing, the nurse confidently strode down the narrow tiled hall, syringe in hand, ready to deal with this problem before it officially got on her nerves. A series of crashes and bangs started up, ricocheting along the hall. The girl was slamming her food tray into the walls.

_What the hell set her off? _

As the nurse's steady steps brought her to the cell, something odd happened.

The screaming abruptly stopped, leaving the nurse's ears ringing with the recent memory of it. The metallic ruckus of the tray ceased. Now, there was only the heavy sound of the nurse's breathing.

A tiny tendril of hesitation halted her in place before the cell. It was like in those old horror movies, when you yelled at the blonde on television not to enter the room, to run instead, even though the blonde acted stupid anyway.

Generally, according to hospital regulations, the nurse wasn't supposed to enter a patient's cell without the presence of another staff member. If something tragic happened to the nurse, no one would know until morning. But this girl had never given them trouble before…

_Oh, what am I worrying about? I can handle her. I sure as hell outweigh her, skin and bones as she is. Just gonna go in there, inject the needle, and leave her lying on her bed like a rag doll. End of story. _

Digging out the key, the nurse cautiously opened the cell door, not knowing what to expect. The shadowy interior did little to help matters; it took a full minute for the nurse's eyes to adjust. And then she gasped.

Inside the cell, it looked like a frat party had just taken place. Mashed food caked the walls, white milk dribbling down to pool across the gray floor. The tray had been discarded near the bed, stained with uneaten food. Bits of the mattress were torn to shreds by nails alone, trailing along the floor.

In the middle of the floor lay the girl, facedown, unconscious. Brown hair spilled around her head in clumps, her limbs outstretched while her eyes remained closed. It didn't even appear that she was breathing, her chest unmoving.

"What in God's name…?" _Just wait until the Mayor hears about this. She'll have to pay another visit tomorrow morning. At least the girl is unconscious, anyway—makes my job that much easier. _

The nurse swiftly bent forward, pressing down on the girl's wrist for a pulse. It was light, but it was there. Carefully, she lifted the girl's shirt to locate enough pale skin to stick the needle…

What she wasn't expecting was the sudden opening of the girl's eyes, two gleaming jewels studying her with perfect clarity. In seconds, the girl had leaped up, shoving the nurse down to the ground. Catching the nurse's wrist, she drove the needle into the nurse's leg, injecting the drug.

Almost instantly, the nurse's mind grew numb and cramped. Muscles weak, tongue thick and heavy, she could only fall forward, rolling to stare blankly at the cracked gray ceiling. Her head lolled to the side and her eyes grew glassy as the drug coursed through her veins.

Bare feet dashed past the limp nurse, followed by a distinctive clink as the girl removed the string of keys that the nurse had naively left in the keyhole of the door.

For the first time that she could remember, Isabella French stepped beyond the confines of her prison. And then she ran.

* * *

><p>The rest of the hospital was taking a leaf out of the psych ward's book—it was eerily quiet with only the occasional cough or buzzing of telephones interrupting the silence.<p>

It took a couple of tries to find the right key, but soon enough Isabella was slipping through the Exit door that marked the entrance to the psych ward. There was a registration desk nearby, but it was lacking of any doctors. Maybe they went on a coffee break.

Creeping towards the rolling chair behind the desk, Isabella donned the white lab coat that had been draped across the back. It was much too small, but that didn't matter now as long as she blended in. It would buy her time.

After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed a clipboard and kept her head bent low. Now she had to face the task of finding the exit. _It's certainly not behind that door, _she thought, eyeing the exit door that she had just stepped away from.

Laughter echoed off the walls as two nurses came bouncing along the hall, their hands holding cups of coffee. Isabella's hair swept across her jaw like a curtain as the women passed, never giving her a second glance.

One of them was digging out a pack of cigarettes, intending to go for a quick smoke. Cigarettes weren't allowed inside the hospital. Smoking meant outdoors. _The exit. _

As Isabella circled around the desk, intending to follow the two women straight to her freedom, a doctor strode into view. His eyes were somewhat piercing and an arrogant smirk seemed permanently stretched across his face. With a quick glance, she saw his nametag dubbed him as "Dr. Whale."

His eyes landed directly on her just as she was turning away…_must find the exit…_

"Hey," the doctor called out to her, sending her heart into thudding spasms. Had he seen her face? Had he already been called down to the psych ward? "Glad to see there's at least one other doctor doing their job. Would you mind watching the desk here? I have to check up on a patient downstairs."

_Patient…downstairs…oh, God, he's checking up on me, isn't he? _Isabella felt her mouth become dry as cotton. She could only nod and murmur a response.

"Thanks, Dr…" The doctor's eyes searched for her identification, becoming confused when it did not match her description. It was then his hands gripped her arms and spun her around, giving him a good look at her face.

Recognition passed over him as he examined her pale features, haunted eyes, and shaken look. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized that this doctor suddenly knew exactly who she was.

"You," he breathed with disbelief. Before he could be given the chance to really work against her, she thrust the clipboard into his stomach. Bending at the waist, the doctor moaned with pain.

Isabella started to turn away, but the doctor straightened, catching her by the arm. Wrenching her other arm back, Isabella thrust it forward into the doctor's nose.

There was a sharp crack and then blood spurted across his face, staining his white medical coat. He released her arm to block his nose. Isabella was already on the move by the time he recovered from the impact.

Dashing down the hallway and through the nearest door, the welcoming breeze of the outside world grazed her skin. The woods stretched wide before her. _The hospital is surrounded by the woods. You'll want to lose any pursuers there. _

And so she would. But first she threw off the medical coat—the stark white was far too visible compared to the faded moss green of her uniform underneath.

Jefferson's voice echoed in her mind as her feet carried her through the thick expanse of trees. _Whatever you do, do not go home! If you reach that pawnshop, I guarantee you won't be coming back here. _

And so her journey began, with the town's clock ticking away the precious seconds of her newfound freedom.

* * *

><p><em>She's gone. Damn, she could be anywhere by now. <em>

Dr. Whale cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his sandy hair as he repeatedly peered into the empty cell, his other hand covering his broken nose. It was as though he were hoping the girl would magically reappear. The nurse was still lying on the floor, drugged.

Shaking his head, he dug out his cell phone and headed up to the main levels in order to maintain a signal. His piercing eyes landed on the doctor at the registration desk, apparently searching for his medical coat.

"Where the hell were you?" The doctor snapped his head up, eyes growing wide with apprehension. Dr. Whale sneered at the short doctor, with his spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"I…I was getting coffee…" The doctor motioned to the cup of lukewarm sludge served by the hospital and Dr. Whale picked it up, emptying it into the nearest trash bin. "Hey! I wasn't done with that!"

"You idiot! Because of you and your coffee break, you failed to be here when a patient escaped," Dr. Whale reprimanded him. The little man trembled, but kept his chin raised against the attack. "Now I have to be the one to call Madame Mayor."

Dr. Whale left the doctor staring around the hall in confusion. He hated having to be the one to tell Regina. Three times he was forced to punch in the number due to his shaking hands. The phone buzzed in his ear, the seconds of the clock ticking by faster than he would have preferred.

_Please don't answer. Please don't be home, _he silently pleaded. You did not want to be the unlucky one to inform Regina of bad news—her rage was extraordinary at the best of times. _Please don't be home. _

"Yes?" The clipped manner burned through his ear. His tongue was dry, the words refused to unstick themselves from his throat. "Well? What is it?"

Dr. Whale cleared his throat, the heat of the hospital making him sweat bullets. At least, he convinced himself it was the heat.

"Madame Mayor…I have bad news," he slowly started. The silence was torture as he awaited her response. It was like waiting to see if a grenade would explode when it was inches from your face.

In her home office, Regina was busy pouring herself a light alcoholic drink in a tumbler, mainly as early congratulations for finally getting revenge on that pathetic schoolteacher. At the mention of bad news, she paused, a grimace settling on her lips.

"Is that so? Dr. Whale, I'm sure you know I have enough trouble dealing with Ms. Blanchard's case. This had better be worth my time," she coldly warned him as she slid into her chair. Gingerly, she sipped her drink. What she really meant behind her words was: _this had better not spoil my good mood. _

"Oh, well…you remember that pretty girl that was committed a while back? The one you instructed I keep tabs on?"

Regina clenched the phone in her hand. In her mind, she heard the ripping of that pitiful book and she pictured Belle as she had been in the other realm. Her secret ace.

"M-Madame Mayor?"

"Yes, I remember. What about her?" Regina had a terrible premonition as she hastily downed the rest of her drink. She waited.

"She's…she's gone. I…I'm not sure how far she's gotten already…she disappeared into the woods. She's gone."

Regina's breath halted in her lungs. Fury fired through her veins as those two words repeated in her head. _She's gone. She's gone. _Dark eyes gazing absently at the wall, her hand squeezed the tumbler as harshly as it would a heart. Squeezed…squeezed…

Without warning, Regina lifted the tumbler and flung it at the wall where it exploded into a shower of glass shards. _Belle was gone. _Her secret ace…gone.

Someone was going to pay dearly. _I'll be damned if I let those two find each other again. I'll be damned if that useless imp finds his happiness first. _

There was a garble on the phone as Dr. Whale repeated her name. Abruptly, Regina dropped the phone in its cradle and instantly picked it up again to dial a new number.

"Yes, Sheriff Swan. I have a new job for you…"

* * *

><p><strong>I've decided to split her escape into two parts. It was originally going to be one massive chapter. <strong>

**On an interesting note, I intended that drug (the one the nurse was going to give Belle) to be the same that Jefferson uses on Emma in "Hat Trick." **

**Also, I want to thank those of you that reviewed the last chapter—I loved every comment from you guys! Here's a shout-out to megumisakura, LaBelleRoseBleue, Sheharazade's Fable, Skylie XD, The Sky Pirate Girl, Bluecanbegreen, anon, and cuterosr1817. Thanks so much! **

**Thanks for reading, everyone! Guess what? I already have the next chapter finished! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Wow, the reviews were awesome! I'm glad so many of you enjoyed it! Now, here's part two for you—I decided it was best not to let you guys squirm for too long. (= **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Ten**

_Where am I? How do I get out of here? _

Isabella ducked and dodged around countless trees, unsure of the direction in which she was even headed. She tried to keep the map of Storybrooke in her mind, but it was getting fuzzy. Bare feet pounded the cool, rich soil as she simply ran, throwing all sense of direction to the winds.

Were they following her yet? Would the police come searching for her with flashlights and canines? Which way led to town? It was all so confusing, the trees nearly suffocating her.

Then she stopped against a moss-covered tree. And listened.

There—the swift rush of water. A river?

If she could find it, maybe she could follow that instead of running in blind circles. Isabella darted around the trees, the sound of water increasing with every step. She was getting closer!

Isabella broke through the foliage of trees and into a clearing. A shallow river flowed underneath a bridge. A rusty sign marked it as the "Toll Bridge", though someone inserted a red R to make it the "Troll Bridge" instead. The moon peeked out from behind the purple clouds, making the river's water sparkle as though infused with diamonds.

It was beautiful and enchanting…but it wasn't the reason why Isabella stopped in her tracks.

There was a woman standing by the river's edge, her back facing Isabella. Her head was tilted upwards as if she were gazing longingly at the pale moon.

Isabella's nerves jumped like live wires and she hardly breathed. Maybe she could sneak around the woman or find some other route…

_Snap! _

A twig broke under Isabella's foot as she tentatively took a step backwards. The woman spun in surprise, eyes locking with Isabella's wide ones.

The woman was not so much a woman as she was a young girl, close to her age even. Eyes that glowed in the moonlight, a thin curvy figure that was barely hidden by shorts and a tank top.

Full red lips, the shade of fresh apples. Ebony hair that challenged the rich ink in the books Isabella read, streaked with crimson. The most startling detail was her eyes—shining amber eyes that lit up with concern instead of alarm or accusation.

"I didn't know others came out here so late. I'm sorry if I scared you," the woman kindly apologized, dipping her head. Isabella stared at her with curiosity. "Are you alright? You look pale."

The girl frowned with thought, carefully stepping forward. Isabella drew back instantly, preparing to run.

"I'm sorry," the girl said again, spreading her hands to show she meant no harm. "I don't think I've seen you before. Are you new to town?" Those brown eyes studied her in wonder. Isabella didn't feel afraid. Despite the exposing clothing, the girl seemed…sincere. "Oh, you must think I'm so rude. I'm Ruby."

Eagerly, the young woman extended her hand towards Isabella. She considered it. This girl—Ruby—was so much friendlier than Regina. And she wasn't faking her smile, either.

"I…I'm Belle," Isabella complied, using Jefferson's name for her instead. "Could you point me in the direction of…of Mr. Gold's pawnshop?"

All of a sudden, a change came over Ruby. Frowning, her eyes studied Isabella with suspicion and puzzlement.

"Why would you want to go there?" Ruby made it sound as if the place—or perhaps just the owner himself—was downright horrid. Off limits. Odd. But Jefferson had sworn it was the safest place in town._ I have to reach it. I promised him. And I'm not one to break promises._

A steady realization dawned on Ruby's face. Isabella's knees buckled, her legs preparing to run. The only thing that stalled her was the pity that eclipsed the previous suspicion on Ruby's face.

"You probably owe him money, right?" Isabella remained silent, allowing Ruby to think what she wanted as long as it sped up the process of obtaining directions. "Okay, follow this trail. It'll lead straight to the street. Take a left on that street and you'll eventually come across it. You can't miss it."

Isabella sighed with relief. A genuine smile touched her lips.

"Thank you," she whispered before taking off at a run, leaving Ruby to stare after her with growing curiosity.

* * *

><p>Isabella broke through the fringe of trees, into the main street of Storybrooke. With every step, she was getting closer to that safe place.<p>

It was quiet tonight, with practically no one roaming the streets. Instantly, she turned left and started running again, her heart pounding inside her chest. All she could do was picture that tiny square on the map with "Mr. Gold's Antiques" listed underneath.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins and her muscles screamed in protest, but she didn't stop. _Just keep running,_ she urged her legs. Running…running…

Right past her father's flower shop, _Game of Thorns._

Isabella's feet slowed as she faced the familiar shop. How many times had she brought lunch for her father when he was having a busy day? How many times had he taught her the delicate ways to tend to the flowers?

Resting her forehead against the cold surface of the glass, she peered into the dark interior of the shop.

It was exactly as she remembered, as if she had just awoken from a dream in which she had been imprisoned. Isabella could remember the sweet scent of the flowers. The roses had always been her favorite. Beautiful, red roses with their soft petals and romantic aura.

A coil of sadness shot through her—she so longed to see her father again. Then Jefferson's voice reprimanded her. _Whatever you do, do not go home!_

Lifting her head, she knew she had to find the pawnshop and that time was very precious. And so she continued on her way, swallowing the sadness in her heart.

All that remained to hint at her presence was a foggy cloud where her breath had warmed the glass. Within seconds, the fogginess cleared until there was no trace of her left.

* * *

><p>Ruby had been right—it was difficult to miss the pawnshop. Not only was it one of the last shops on this end of the street, but there was an overhanging sign with the words "Mr. Gold's Antiques" in crisp, gold lettering.<p>

Isabella's lungs gasped for air as she paused before the entrance, eyes wide. She'd done it! She was here! She felt like dancing for joy at her accomplishment.

Slowly, she was drawn to the entrance. It was shadowy inside—the town clock claimed it was almost 8:30. Fingers wrapping around the door knob, she pulled only to feel the resistance in the effort.

Locked.

As she had done at her father's flower shop, Isabelle peered through the glass, but saw only the outlines of the items for sale on the shelves. No owner in sight.

Isabella's hopes crumbled as she took a shaky step back from the window. What was she to do now? This had been her goal, her key to freedom according to Jefferson. She thought about breaking the window, but she wasn't even sure there would be anything useful in there. _What should I do? Break in and hide out? I can't go back to that place._

The sound of a car was approaching—the Sheriff's cruiser was patrolling the streets. _Looking for me,_ she realized, ducking into a side alley next to the pawnshop.

The car seemed to slow outside the pawnshop and Isabella kneeled behind two trashcans to avoid being seen or caught in the headlights. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she stayed still as possible.

There was the screech of tires—the Sheriff's car was making a U-turn and starting back down the street. Isabella waited five whole minutes before moving, cautiously sneaking to the end of the alley…

"Oh," she gasped as she collided with someone—a man. He was taller than she was by a good foot or so with blonde hair that was cut short and blue eyes that were a bit dazed. His breath smelled of alcohol.

"Hey, darlin'. Where are you off to in such a hurry?" His clumsy hands grabbed onto her arms. Isabella suddenly became alarmed—she could guess the intentions circulating this man's drunken mind.

"Please, I don't want any trouble," she pleaded softly, trying hopelessly to struggle away from his grasp. The man held her tight, his foul breath warming her neck.

"Oh, I promise not to trouble you too much. You look like you could use some comforting," he slurred, one of his hands lifting up her shirt suggestively. "It'll be just you and me."

Isabella banged her fists against his chest, but the man only chortled as his cold fingers grazed her stomach.

"Please, no! Don't!" Isabella attempted to kick him, but her attacker shoved her against the wall, his body towering over hers. Heart racing, hands trembling with fear, she knew what he was planning to do. And it wasn't pleasant in her mind. "Hel—"

A sweaty hand clamped over her lips, silencing her. The man's face came within inches of hers and he gazed at her maliciously. His moist lips smoothed across her jaw, lingering beneath her ear. A feeling of nausea slid into her stomach.

"Oh, now. This won't hurt, darlin'. I just want to have a little fun, that's all—"

Isabella bared her teeth beneath her lips and bit down hard into the man's skin. He yowled and stumbled back. She flitted past him—_run, run_—but his heavy arm circled her waist and slammed her back into the wall. Her head throbbed from the harsh impact.

"You worthless bitch. You see, I was gonna go easy on you, make you moan. Now, I've changed my mind. I'm gonna give you something to really scream about."

Isabella closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable torture to begin. Instead, there was a sharp crack as something solid connected with the back of her attacker's skull. Eyes becoming glassy, the drunken man collapsed to the ground at her feet.

She stared at his sprawled form in shock. Then Isabella raised her head to locate her savior.

And there, only a few feet away, was the mysterious man she had only ever seen in her dreams.

* * *

><p><strong>Remember the blonde guy that Rumpel spared in the first chapter? Guess that town has a way of history repeating itself. <strong>

**Dun, dun, dun! These two have been reunited! But what will happen now? Don't worry—I won't make you guys wait that long to find out. **

**Oh and here's a shout-out to my reviewers: juju0268, vcatrashfiend, LaBelleRoseBleue, megumisakura, Bluecanbegreen, The Sky Pirate Girl, SqueakyDolphin6, Sheherazade's Fable, Skylie XD, cuterosr1817, and anon. Thank you so much, everyone!**

**Thank you for taking the time to read!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Another chapter for my readers—something to tide you over in waiting for the new episode. And our two ill-fated lovebirds are reunited! I thought this chapter would work better in Gold's POV (kind of). So enjoy the chapter! **

**Chapter Eleven**

It had been nearly a week ago that Jefferson had made the deal with him, had sworn on his word to release Belle from the prison in which she resided. _Nearly a week…and she has not come. Your word means nothing to me. _

In the shadows of the back room, Mr. Gold was lost in his thoughts, rolling his cane between his palms. Jefferson was gone from Storybrooke, his house empty on its hill. He had broken their deal. He supposed he should have known better than to hope that his Belle was alive somewhere, waiting for him. _She's dead. She's never coming back. And Jefferson will pay. _

There was an odd sound shattering his train of thought—it was coming from the front of the shop. The door was rattling. Was someone trying to get in?

Mr. Gold tilted his head and listened. There it was again; the hopeless attempt to open the locked door. Who would be coming to him at this hour? Unless…

Frowning thoughtfully, Mr. Gold rose from his chair and ambled toward the curtain. Sweeping it aside impatiently, he looked to the door…

There was no one there.

A flash of headlights illuminated the sidewalk outside his shop as the Sheriff's car appeared. In another minute or so, the cruiser made a swift U-turn and disappeared out of view, the night becoming still again.

Had he been imagining the sound of the door? Had it just been his imagination, his mind playing tricks on him? And he had felt a surge of hope that it would be her. _Foolish. She's gone. _

Checking the time—almost 8:30—he figured it was past time he headed home, though he certainly wasn't looking forward to the walk. Switching off the last light in the back, Mr. Gold stepped outside into the chilly air and locked up his shop. A feeling of emptiness drowned him. What did he have to return home to in this world?

It was then he heard it. Voices. In the alley.

"Please, no! Don't!" Still holding his keys, Mr. Gold limped to the mouth of the alley. There was a yell of pain, something slamming.

Two people were standing against the wall. In actuality, a man was restraining a young girl against the wall and it didn't require brain surgery to realize the man's crude intentions. It was funny how alcohol could turn almost any man into a monster.

Snippets of the man's slurred words floated across to him.

"Now, I've changed my mind. I'm gonna give you something to really scream about," he was threatening the girl, whose face was shrouded in shadows.

Stealthily approaching the man from behind, Mr. Gold lifted his cane and brought it down hard on the man's skull. There was a sharp, satisfying crack and the man collapsed to the ground.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed the girl stare down at her attacker in shock and then face him with equal surprise. Mr. Gold never took the time to observe her—all he could see was the man on the ground, moaning.

It was the same person that attacked Belle in that tavern, the last time he'd seen her in that other realm. The man he'd reluctantly spared upon her request. _Some details never change, _Mr. Gold mused as he gritted his teeth with disgust, raising his cane again…

"Wait!" The girl abruptly leaped in front of him, arms spread wide. For the first time, his brown eyes focused on the girl.

And Mr. Gold's heart froze in his chest.

It was her. It had to be a trick, a hallucination. Perhaps he was tired, or his mind was simply conjuring her image. It couldn't be…but it was.

Those rich, brown waves that had shined in the spring sunlight, now hanging limply on her shoulders. Once bright with wonder, her wide eyes were haunted to no end. Her rosy petal-soft lips were now chapped and as pale as the rest of her skin.

But it was her. His Belle.

"Please…don't kill him. Let the Sheriff find him," she pleaded with him. That voice—it was as sweet as he remembered, even more so. Slowly, Mr. Gold lowered the cane as he drank in the sight of her. He was afraid that if he blinked she'd be gone.

"Belle…" Her name rolled off his tongue so smoothly, as if he'd chanted it for years since her departure from his castle. It was like taking a wonderful drink of water after endless days striving in a desert.

"My name is Isabella French," she corrected him. French. Of course…Moe's daughter in this world. _And you locked her away. You shut her away. You were her father. _"Please…you don't need to hurt him."

His brown eyes traveled to the man on the ground, his drunken head lolling from side to side. Oh, how he wanted to hurt that man for even thinking of touching Belle again. _If I were in that other realm, I would turn him into a snail and crush him with my boot. _

In this world, however, all he had was a cane. And—like with Moe French—a cane sometimes did the trick. But Belle was watching him, nearly shaking despite her confidence. _She doesn't remember me. She doesn't remember anything. _

If Gold beat this man here, now, in front of her…she'd be frightened. She'd drift away from him. He couldn't have that.

"We'll let the Sheriff find him," he agreed, placing his cane back on the ground where it belonged. "You must need shelter," he hinted. No matter what, he could not allow Emma Swan to cross paths with Belle. The Sheriff would be forced to do her job, shut Belle away from him again.

Belle nodded slowly, as if in a daze.

"Yes, I do. Thank you," she whispered as Mr. Gold led her along the streets of Storybrooke. As he took his beauty home, where _she _belonged.

* * *

><p>It was almost surreal, having Belle by his side again. Even more so since she obviously did not remember who he truly was. <em>At least she would not recall the pain I put her through, <em>he thought. But if she could just remember _something…_it was tormenting, not being able to reach out to her.

And because she did not remember, he was forced to restrain himself as he helped her home, as he unlocked the door to his estate, as Belle followed him inside.

Isabella…that was her name in this world. But to him she would always be Belle.

"You have a lovely home," she softly offered, as though nervous that he would reprimand her for the compliment. Her wide eyes roamed in wonder, absorbing every detail. If only she would one day observe him with as much interest.

_And you have lovely lips that I am dying to kiss, _he thought darkly as he watched her. He remained off to the side, never touching her for fear that he would frighten her away. She would be about nineteen in this world, or somewhere close to that. There were limits in this world—age restrictions—that made such intimacies inappropriate.

Or maybe he never touched her for fear that this was all in his head, that she wasn't really there.

"Thank you…Miss French," he complied, gripping the banister of the stairs until his knuckles turned white. _Damn Regina for doing this to her. Damn Regina for taking her away from me. _

Belle's beautiful eyes landed on him and he found he could not look away. Politely, she smiled.

"Please…call me Isabella," she insisted with confidence though she looked quite small in that pitiful hospital uniform. He wondered if he still had her golden gown somewhere.

Belle frowned thoughtfully and then—to his shock—she laid a kind hand on his arm. In an instant, his breath stopped and her touch seared him to the bone.

"Or…you can call me Belle. I think I like that name better than Isabella," she told him, laughing silvery. Her hand was still on his arm and everything else in the world slipped away as he gazed into her eyes.

"Belle…" He whispered longingly. A startled flash shown in her eyes and she slowly removed her hand from his arm. Something in his eyes had concerned her, set off the alarms in her mind. Oh, but it was so hard to control it.

Regaining his composure, he motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. Belle was hesitant at first—to her he was still a stranger—but then her soft footsteps matched the tapping of his cane.

"Where are you taking me?"

He paused on the top step. It was déjà vu; he could recall Belle asking the same exact question when she first stepped foot in the Dark Castle. _Following him…wearing her golden dress…where are you taking me? _

And, likewise, he could recall his response with perfect clarity.

"Let's just call it…your room," he said to her, hoping to ignite a slight spark of recognition. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, but his words triggered little else. _Face it…she doesn't remember. The curse has affected her like everyone else. Damn Regina. _

"You don't have to—" She began to protest as he swiftly led her down the hallway, past the library. He'd have to remember to show it to her. It had been her favorite room in the castle. _Belle…sitting on a chair next to the window…book in her hand…_

"I am aware that I do not have to, Belle. I want to," he told her over his shoulder as he stopped before one of the best guest rooms. He laid his hands on the doors and closed his eyes, savoring her warmth close behind him.

This time, there would be no cold, unforgiving dungeon for her. This time, he intended to make everything better.

* * *

><p><strong>How was that? I already have plans for what's coming next. <strong>

**Also, thank you everyone for the marvelous reviews! Here's a shout-out now to Moonphase9, Sorcelle Dragonmoon, megumisakura, SqueakyDolphin6, LaBelleRoseBleue, Marcella Watts, Bluecanbegreen, Skylie XD, anon, Sheherazade's Fable, vcatrashfiend, and The Sky Pirate Girl. Thanks so much! **

**Until next time! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry this update took a little longer than expected. It's a long chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Though, Regina once again shows a little bit of her dark side…just a warning. **

**And thank you, everyone, for the reviews! I'm glad so many are enjoying the story!**

**Chapter Twelve**

"She's been caught? And you've escorted her back to her cell?"

The Queen paced in front of two of her guards, nerves flaring at the notion that the girl had very nearly escaped her grasp. Clad in their black armor, the guards averted their gaze as the Queen's dagger-like nails flicked inches from their sweaty faces. Nails that could rip a heart from a man's chest as effortlessly as she would tear a flimsy bit of clothing.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The girl is locked away in the dungeon once more. A guard is already stationed there. We await your command," one of the guards spoke up, praying to the gods he did not stutter.

The Queen hated stuttering, for it showed fear and therefore weakness. The Queen always despised what she liked to refer to as "sheep" instead of "wolves."

The Queen stared into her enchanted mirror for quite some time. The silence was nearly deafening, but the guards knew better than to interrupt the Queen's train of thought. The glass of the mirror grew unnaturally smoky and then a distinct outline of a face was gazing out at them.

"What do you plan to do with her?" The Mirror's voice boomed from the smooth surface. The Queen's fingers stroked the ivory detailing of the mirror, the beginnings of a devious smile curving her ruby lips.

"The girl shall be punished…severely. Unfortunately, it'll have to wait. I have other matters to tend to," she declared, sending her guards away to fetch Jefferson.

The Queen's mind swirled with possibilities in which to punish that wretched girl, until it settled on a particularly gruesome course of action. Oh yes…By the time the Queen was through with her, she'd think twice before ever leaving the confines of her cell again.

* * *

><p>The golden sunlight streamed in through the window, arousing her from blessed sleep. Her eyes were instantly sore from the blinding light, but blissfully they opened to absorb the rays as they warmed her skin.<p>

It had been such a long time since she had woken to the sight of the morning sun bursting through the curtains and the sound of birds chirping happily outside. It had been a long time since she had gotten a decent sleep in a decent bed, for that matter. And this one was so large and so heavenly, she had fallen asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.

Leisurely, she stretched and slid to the edge of the bed. The smell of breakfast enticed her from downstairs and her stomach grumbled. When was the last time she ate real food?

For a moment, she recalled the stale bread, lukewarm milk, and thick soup that had been served to her every day in her cell. _Food that I will never eat again_, she thought cheerfully. _Jefferson guaranteed that I would never go back. _

Eyes locating the nightstand, she checked the clock—it was a few minutes past nine. By now, she would have eaten her breakfast and received her medication. Not today. No more. _It feels refreshing not to be uselessly drugged within four gray walls. _

Smiling, she savored this wonderful feeling before heading downstairs to join her…savior? Caretaker? He was something, she knew that. Otherwise, why would she continuously dream about him? _Perhaps he's my true love or something of that manner. Except there's no such thing as true love—it's too good a concept to be true. _

At least he had managed to rescue her the previous night, to help her instead of turn her over like he probably should. And she hadn't the slightest clue of how she'd repay him.

* * *

><p>The first thing he'd assumed in the morning was that it was a dream. Rescuing Belle, seeing her alive again after all these years, showing her to her room as he had done in the Dark Castle…it had to be a dream. He had been thinking about her last night and this was his subconscious' way of playing on his loneliness and guilt.<p>

At eight in the morning, he limped to that guest room past the library, preparing for disappointment. Carefully, he had edged the door open and felt the cane nearly tumble from his fingers when he witnessed her fragile, sleeping form cured in the middle of the bed. _It wasn't a dream. Belle is alive. _

Without making a sound, he made his way to the side of the bed to gaze down at her peaceful, delicate face. Her breath came in soft gasps, her rich hair fanned across the white pillow. One strand lightly fell across her face and Belle twitched her nose in her sleep. Gently, he reached over and brushed that strand away, his fingers grazing her pale skin.

Before he could give in to the temptation and do something he'd regret, he pulled his hand away and left her to sleep. In his mind, he knew she'd need time to adjust to him like those early months in the castle. And in his mind, he knew he had all the time in the world to watch as she once again drifted towards him.

But time had always been his prison. _Some things never change. _

* * *

><p>"Good morning," Isabella greeted as she wandered into the kitchen. Mr. Gold swiftly turned to smile at her, a flash of fascination and recognition in his brown eyes. She could never remember crossing paths with him before…did he dream of her as well?<p>

"Just in time, Belle," he said, sweeping a calm hand across one of the counters. Isabella breathed in the delicious scents of hot food, her stomach growling to be filled. "Breakfast is ready." With a soft gesture of his hand, he motioned for her to take a seat at the table in the center of the room.

Hesitantly, Isabella settled into a chair. It felt like she was in a dream, like she could wake up at any moment and be back in that gray room. _Am I dreaming? Or is this real? _

"Thank you," she whispered as Mr. Gold set a plate of food in front of her and turned away to assemble his own plate. Isabella eyed it with amazement, wondering where to start. Eggs, bacon, toast, sausages, pancakes…it was like a buffet compared to the few particles of food she'd grown used to eating.

Oh, how she wanted to shovel it in her mouth, but that would be quite rude. Instead, she carefully and politely took small bites, eating slowly even though the taste—the rich, delicious syrupy taste—tempted her with more.

Mr. Gold watched as she restrained herself. Gently he laid his fork down and tented his fingers beneath his chin.

"I appreciate your politeness, Belle…but you must be starving," he spoke softly, gesturing for her to let loose with her breakfast. After a moment's consideration—she really was starving—Isabella dropped her fork and grabbed up a piece of toast, taking generous bites. She closed her eyes in bliss as the buttery taste swept across her tongue.

"This is very good food," she said once she had swallowed a mouthful of pancake. Moving on to the eggs, she noticed that Mr. Gold was no longer trying to eat the food on his own plate. His brown eyes were drinking her in, a light smile playing on his lips. "Aren't you going to eat your food?"

Mr. Gold glanced down as if he just realized there was a plate of food there. Sighing, he lifted a napkin and dabbed his lips.

"I usually don't have that large of an appetite. For food, anyway." The insinuation made her blush slightly. Mr. Gold set the napkin beside his plate, laughing lowly. Isabella brought another forkful of egg to her mouth and her mind began to wander.

It was so blessedly quiet here; she could actually hear the birds chirping their songs just outside the window. A breeze swept across the windows and Isabella wondered what that wind would feel like on her thirsty skin. And above all that, a solemn thought: _I wonder if Kathryn is screaming today. _

Kathryn, who seemed to be wrongly institutionalized, who did not belong in that psych ward. Kathryn, who had come to believe that Regina ripped out her heart.

She was unaware that she stopped eating until Mr. Gold leaned forward, tilting his head with curiosity.

"Something bothering you?" His rich voice brought her back from those grievous thoughts and she smiled weakly.

"I was just thinking…about a girl that had also been locked up in that psych ward. Kathryn Nolan," she explained, lowering her eyes to the almost empty plate before her. Mr. Gold seemed to pause, face thoughtful.

"Kathryn…how very convenient," he mumbled under his breath, mainly to himself. Isabella rested her arms on the table and studied the man across from her. Something about him was alluring and fascinating, though there was an unmistakable darkness in the depths of his eyes.

Suddenly, his gaze became sharp again and his fingers lightly encircled her wrists, drawing her closer to him. One of his fingers tapped the inside of her arm and she realized what he was looking at. Her scars. Scars that marred the skin of her arms and matched the deep ones on her back.

"Belle…These scars…Where did you get them?"

* * *

><p>The Evil Queen strode down the black-stone hallways of her castle, a satisfied smirk forming on her lips. Her father, recently retrieved from Wonderland, was in tow, trying to keep up with her confident strides. It was time to deal with that other problem.<p>

"And you're satisfied keeping the girl locked away?" Why must her father ask such frustrating, useless questions? He was almost as bad as the Mirror sometimes.

"Yes, I am," she snapped, spinning on her heel. "She is that bastard's only weakness, which makes her useful to me. I will not be beaten by someone like him."

Abruptly, the Queen started down the hallway once more and located the stairwell leading into the dark, damp dungeon below. Her guards were already stationed outside the cell, just as they assured. One of them gripped an iron rod in his black-armored hands. Her prisoner was kneeling in the pile of straw, watching them warily.

"Rumor has it you tried to escape, my dear," the Queen announced, grinning with anticipation. Belle's bright eyes switched to her, though they were absent of fear. She'd have to change that.

"You've imprisoned me. I saw a chance and I took it. Anyone else would have done the same," the girl calmly explained, tucking her legs beneath her. The Queen paced before the cell, pausing only to glare at her prisoner.

"It was a poor choice on your part. I do so hate when others feel the need to defy me. But I'm going to make sure it never happens again." Belle grew stiff, most likely imagining a series of torturous scenarios. Often times, the imagination could be worse than reality.

"What are you going to do with me?" Belle's voice never broke or faltered—she was simply inquiring about the Queen's intentions so to be prepared for defense, like a soldier in war.

The Queen admired the girl's strength, but it was too bad she about to knock that strength down a couple of pegs. She did not answer directly, instead shifting towards one of her guards. The one holding the iron rod, as circumstances would have it.

The Queen slightly dipped her head. Grimly the guard raised the iron to settle in the flame of a torch on the wall. Belle's eyes grew wide as she understood just how the Queen meant to punish her. _That's right, dear. This is what you deserve. _

"If only I had a nice pair of iron boots. Then I could make you dance," the Queen taunted, laughing darkly at Belle's sudden discomfort.

With a wave of her hand, she commanded her other guard to unlock the cell door. Belle did not make any move to run—she knew better than to try when the effort would obviously fail. Besides, she intended to accept her punishment as best she could—she was not a coward.

"Now, stand," the Queen demanded. Belle remained in the pile of straw, staring defiantly back at the Queen. Ruby lips pursed, the Queen stepped forward into the doorway of the cell, a gloved hand extended. "Perhaps you didn't hear me. I…said…_stand!" _

In an instant, the Queen unleashed her magical influence on Belle, causing the girl to curl in on herself with pain. Gritting her teeth, Belle moaned, her nails digging into the skin of her arms. The Queen allowed her to suffer for a long moment and then drew back. Swaying, the girl obeyed—standing to her feet against the wall.

"That's better," the Queen surmised. _Let the fun begin. Such precious skin about to be ruined. Who will covet you then, Belle? _

Without glancing away from Belle, the Queen held out her hand for the iron rod, the tip now red as a fresh apple. Red…and burning. The Queen took it from her guard, smiling maliciously. The two guards quickly rushed into the cell, retraining Belle's arms. Belle did not struggle—she knew what was coming.

The Queen gazed admiringly at the red hot tip of the iron as she moved into Belle's cell. The Queen's father was eyeing the wall absently, clearly unsettled by what his daughter was about to do but still unwilling to get in her way.

"Just think, Belle. Such fire can bring down an entire kingdom. Just imagine what it could do to delicate, soft skin," the Queen mocked, grabbing ahold of Belle's chin. "Don't worry. It will be ten times worse than it looks."

"Regina, you don't have to—" Her father had opened his mouth, his eyes pleading his daughter not to go through with such madness. The Queen whirled to send him a piercing glare. _Now you're trying to stop me? _

"This has to be done! I am the one with the power around here!" The Queen turned back to Belle and she waved the burning iron in front of her face. "Time to pay."

In one swift move, the Queen laid the red tip of the iron against the skin of Belle's arm. Instantly, there was a brutal hissing and Belle involuntarily screeched as the Queen dragged the iron down across her arm, branding her.

Belle gritted her teeth and groaned with agony as the iron split her ivory skin, steam rising into the air. It must have been the worst pain she'd ever felt…and it was far from over.

Laughing with satisfaction, the Queen brought the iron down into the flesh of her other arm, scorching her skin. Tears welled up in Belle's bright eyes as she desperately prayed for the pain to end. Her nails curled, her nerves were on fire.

"Please…stop," Belle cried out as another mark was added to the first arm. The Queen only smiled maliciously until the iron had cooled. _It's over…the worst is over…_

Apparently the Queen had other ideas in mind.

Sternly, she handed the rod to her father who reluctantly submersed it in the flame once more. At her command, the guards shoved Belle against the wall, her back facing the Queen. The stone walls were cool against Belle's face, unlike the burning that singed her arms.

"Tell me…was it worth loving that monster now?" The Queen gave a low laugh as she accepted the rod once more, the tip seemingly redder than the first time around. Belle glared at the Queen over her shoulder, disgusted that she could harm another individual this way.

In her mind, Belle pictured Rumpelstiltskin spinning his straw into gold, catching her as she fell, handing her that delicate rose…and the burning was suddenly no comparison to the ache she felt in her heart.

"He is not the monster. You are," she gasped as the guards' hold on her shoulders tightened. The Queen's lips pursed angrily. "You will never be happy this way." A single tear dripped down Belle's cheek as her mind finally reminded her of the way she had kissed her captor once…and only once.

"Strip her," the Queen ordered, ignoring Belle's sentimental words. The guards bared Belle's flawless back to the Queen and Belle sighed a ragged breath. The worst was not over…but she had felt worse agony in her life. _Just be done with it…please, _she prayed to absolutely no one.

Resting her forehead against the cool stone wall, Belle closed her eyes and waited. Waited for the pain and searing hiss of her skin.

The rod started directly between her shoulder blades, making Belle's head lurch back. Her fingers scrabbled over the stone wall as the iron burned its way down to her waist. And then again. And again, until the Queen was satisfied with Belle's punishment.

And all the while, Belle turned her head away and caught a glimpse of the pile of straw. Through the mind-numbing pain, she imagined the good use of that straw as it magically transformed into beautiful, glimmering gold via an endless spinning wheel.

* * *

><p>"Belle…where did you get these scars?" It was the second time Mr. Gold had asked her the question.<p>

Her mind froze, her brow furrowed as she tried…tried to remember…some accident, some incident that had left its mark on her skin. Nothing came to mind—it was all a blank. How many days had she passed in her cell, tracing a finger repeatedly over these scars?

Frustrated, she shook her head, her arms beginning to tremble. All she could see were those horrid, pink scars, criss-crossing over her veins.

"I…I can't remember…I've had those scars all my life, I think," she stammered. No, that's wasn't entirely true; she didn't have these scars _all _her life. But the moment in question was foggy in her mind. Mr. Gold's fingers squeezed he wrists as he eyed them and she almost forgot to breathe due to the tension in the air.

"Did your father—" His voice was low and dangerous, his lips barely moving.

"No, of course not! My father could never do something like that. He would never do that to me," she protested. Never had her father even raised a hand to her. It had to have been something else…

Mr. Gold lightly released her hands and pointed a thoughtful finger at her.

"Then I wonder how a father could stand to lock away their only child," he replied coolly. Isabella shrugged, a wave of sadness overwhelming her. When was the last time she'd even seen her father? Did he even know she had escaped? Was he even worrying for her?

"It…it wasn't his fault. Regina gave him the suggestion one day. She said it might be for my own good…and my father agreed," Isabella explained. Then there was the day they finally came for her, locking her away. And her father had stood there, watching his daughter being taken away.

In her peripheral vision, she could see Mr. Gold dip his head slightly. His tongue quickly licked over his lips.

"So…she was the one to put the idea in his head," he mused, though he didn't sound very surprised by the news. Pushing his plate aside, Mr. Gold's eyes glimpsed at the clock and he stood. His hands brushed off his suit, though she could not see anything wrong with it. "Excuse me, dear…I have a busy schedule ahead of me today."

Isabella nodded and then stood to collect the dishes. Mr. Gold waved a hand to dismiss it.

"There's really no need," he insisted. But she picked up his plate anyway. Isabella smiled politely at him, bringing the dishes over to the sink and turning the faucet on.

"Trust me, doing chores is a blessing when you've been institutionalized for years doing absolutely nothing," she said, rinsing off the plates. "It's been a long time since I've done anything normal." Mr. Gold hesitated in grabbing up his cane, wanting nothing more than to stay with her. But that couldn't be done, not with Mary Margaret's impending fate.

"Unfortunately, you'll have to remain here. If the Sheriff found you—" Isabella dried off one of the plates, recalling how doing the dishes was always her least favorite chore. Now, it seemed like the best activity in the world, feeling the water running over her skin.

"I understand. And so life goes on," she sighed, stacking the dish on the side of the sink. Mr. Gold gazed at her with increasing longing. He certainly didn't want her to feel like a prisoner here, as she did in the first few months at his castle. But what choice did he have? _Forgive me, Belle. _

"Feel free to roam as you please," he told her, motioning a hand around the room. Then he paused. "Except for the room directly beside yours." Isabella slowed in drying the last plate as she considered this. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Why not?" Mr. Gold was about to answer honestly—the library was a surprise he'd save for later—but his old self kicked in first. It was much too good to resist.

"It's where I keep the children I collect in my deals," he remarked, smirking. Isabella gasped and the plate slipped from her hands, crashing against the ground. He almost had to stifle a giggle at the sight of her shocked expression. Just like before. "That one was a quip. Not serious." _Just like before._

"Oh…right," Isabella murmured, skin flushing with a gentle red near her eyes. It made her look all the more beautiful.

Trembling, Isabella knelt to gather the plate into her hands. There was a distinctive chip on the rim, slightly jagged. The porcelain piece lay a few feet away. She glanced up, offering him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry. The plate…it's chipped," she said, showing him the crack in the plate with careful fingers. Mr. Gold folded his hands on his cane and smiled reassuringly. It almost matched the chipped cup that rested in his library. He wondered if she felt a sense of déjà vu.

"It's just a plate," he said as she cautiously placed it back on the counter. "To me, it'll always be a sign that you were here." Isabella smiled gratefully, with genuine warmth. Then her smile dimmed as concentration and confusion passed over her face.

"Hmm…I just had the oddest feeling that I've had this conversation before. Déjà vu," she whispered, shaking her head. Mr. Gold had to suppress a relieved breath—she was remembering. Or rather, having strange inklings of déjà vu. That was good.

"I won't be too long," he promised her, limping his way to the front door. It took all his strength to leave her there—what if something happened while he was gone?—but somehow he forced his legs to carry him through the door, away from his Belle.

Anger still pumped through him as he pictured her scars in his mind again. It hadn't been her father, as far as she knew. And she couldn't remember getting them, which meant she had gained those scars in that other realm.

It was the Queen. Instantly, he knew it. Regina had locked Belle away, tortured her.

If the circumstances hadn't been so delicate, he would probably end up doing the same to her, inflicting as much pain as she had on Belle. _Don't worry, Your Majesty. I'll bide my time. And then…then you will pay for taking her from me. _

* * *

><p><strong>Well, I hope everyone liked the chapter! Hopefully, the next update will not be long. I have finals this week, so there's no telling what will come up. Stupid finals. <strong>

**Once again, I'd like to thank all those that reviewed. Here's to Epoch95, Final Fantasy Princess, , megumisakura, Sorcelle Dragonmoon, SqueakyDolphin6, owlsrawsome, Sheherazade's Fable, Bluecanbegreen, katdemon18, The Sky Pirate Girl, and Moonphase9. **

**Thanks so much for reading, everyone! **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Here's another chapter for you to enjoy! As always, thank you for the awesome reviews—they mean so much to me and my story. **

**On with the show! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

It was quiet after Mr. Gold left, but it was not the heavy, unnerving silence she had known in the psych ward. This was a peaceful silence, filled with wonder as she contemplated what to do next. She certainly didn't want to break anything else.

_Feel free to roam as you please, _Mr. Gold had told her. And she had a mind to do just that. It felt odd breathing within an extensive environment, able to stretch her arms wide without fear of colliding with the cramped walls of her cell.

After stacking the chipped plate on top of the other clean one, she made sure the kitchen was spotless before wandering away. And it was a marvelous kitchen—the kind fit for celebrities, she imagined. _It must be bigger than my cell and Kathryn's cell combined. Five times that, even. He must be the richest man in town. _

As if in a dream, Isabella swept into the living room. There were piles of items scattered around, probably because there was little space to store them in his pawnshop. Gently, her fingers brushed over the objects—an old hand-crafted cuckoo clock, a stack of leather-bound books with yellowed pages, a violin. Isabella could have lingered here for hours, poring over all the objects this room had to offer.

Inevitably, her hands found the stack of books. Her mind was thirsty since the last time she read the book Jefferson had given her. Eyes widening, she carefully flipped open the cover to find the title printed in thick black ink. One book was Jane Austen's "Emma," while the other one consisted of fairy tales. Hans Christian Andersen, to be exact.

It was too much to resist. For most of the day, Isabella remained curled in a chair, drinking in the fairy tales eagerly. _The Little Mermaid, Thumbelina, The Princess and the Pea…_She just hoped Mr. Gold didn't mind her touching the books.

The next time Isabella checked the clock, it was a little past four. She always had the habit of getting lost in a book. Sometimes, before she was institutionalized, she had nearly forgotten to eat if it hadn't been for her father's reminder.

She yawned and stretched, replacing the book where she found it. And then she remembered: there was a whole second floor to explore. The most she'd seen of it had been her bedroom. _Curiouser and curiouser, _she thought as she climbed the stairs.

There was a total of five bedrooms, including hers. Most of them guest rooms, though it didn't seem he had too many visitors judging by the fine layer of dust that settled over the unused furniture.

At first, she was hesitant about entering _his_ room. It would be rude, wouldn't it? But then, Mr. Gold had only warned her against entering the room next to hers. His room was down the hall from her room. Technically, she wasn't disobeying his wish.

_I'll only open the door. Just for a quick look. _Padding across the hall, she edged open his door and peered in. It was simple yet intriguing. A grand bed was positioned in the center, complete with silky sheets that were made for a prince. A walk-in closet that would've made any woman jealous. Bay windows, though the drapes blocked out the sunlight.

Isabella also noticed that there was really nothing of sentimental value. There were no pictures in frames, no trinkets with fingerprints showing they've been cradled with care. It made the room feel…lonesome. She wondered if he had ever had a wife or children.

_He must be lonely, living in this place all alone. _

Before she left, she could not resist drawing the curtains aside to allow in the golden sunlight.

* * *

><p>The curiosity was suffocating her.<p>

It was nearly five o'clock. Her stomach grumbled, but she ignored it. Wringing her hands together, she paced in front of the forbidden room. Mr. Gold had told her not to go in, but every hour the curiosity increased, nudging her mind.

_Perhaps I could just look inside, just to satisfy my curiosity. I won't touch anything. What harm could it do? Unless he really is keeping children in there,_ she thought as she placed her palms against the door. _Or I could walk away. _

Oh, but the curiosity was begging her, demanding her to open that door. _Just one look. _

Twisting the handle, the door creaked open…and she gasped.

It was the most wondrous sight in the world. It was a library! The largest personal library she'd ever hoped to lay eyes on! It was over—her feet carried her through the door into her own version of Wonderland.

There were shelves everywhere, bookcases extending high to the ceiling. A wrap around balcony hung over her head, so as to reach the higher shelves. There had to be thousands of books, each one calling her name. A marble fireplace existed in the corner, surrounded by a couch and a couple of arm chairs. This was the kind of place she could breathe in, live in. _It's…it's beautiful. Oh, why wouldn't he want me to see his library? _

Isabella closed her eyes, spread her arms, and inhaled deeply. It was a most wonderful smell—the smell of crisp pages waiting to be turned and late-night candles.

As her bright eyes opened, there was something else that caught her attention. There was a table in front of the couch. Placed there was a small chipped teacup. Was this one of Mr. Gold's sentimental trinkets?

Somehow, that chipped cup resonated with her, beckoned her forward. Isabella took careful steps as she approached the table, arm outstretched toward the cup. Bending slightly, her finger grazed the porcelain handle and something in her mind was coming closer…something…something…

"I thought I told you not to come in here," the rich, low voice broke through her trance, startling her.

Instantly, Belle jerked her hand away and spun to face Mr. Gold, standing close behind her. She never even heard him enter, entranced as she was by that chipped cup. How long had he been there, watching her?

"I…I'm sorry," she hurriedly apologized. Mr. Gold's face was dark and unreadable—he was upset. Harshly, he grabbed her arms and pulled her in towards his body, his face contorted with rage.

"You disobeyed me," he whispered angrily, squeezing her wrists. Isabella choked back a gasp and she turned her head away. _I should have listened to him…I should never have come in here…_

"I'm sorry, I really am. I was just curious…" _And curiosity killed the cat, Isabella. _Something in his face changed then—he seemed to register just how shaken she was. Abruptly, he released her and she stealthily rubbed her wrists. Then, he pointed to the door.

"Go." One word, filled with so much disdain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again before rushing past him. She didn't stop until she reached her room and collapsed on her bed.

* * *

><p><em>First Kathryn and now this…<em>Emma huffed as she made her way to the 'Exit' door that supposedly led to the psych ward. She wondered why Regina wanted it to be kept hush-hush, even though they were in a hospital. _Sure, because an ill patient's main concern is sharing a hospital with crazy people. How considerate of you, Madame Mayor. _

A security guard was blocking the door and he held up a beefy hand to halt Emma in her tracks.

"Sorry, ma'am. Only hospital personnel beyond this point," he announced in a throaty voice, urging her back. Emma swatted his hand away, green eyes narrowed. _Ma'am? Really? _

"Tell that to my badge. I happen to be the Sheriff," she barked back, pointing to her hip where her badge was clipped. "Now I suggest you let me through."

The man's gaze lowered to her badge, gleaming under the fluorescent lighting of the hospital's halls. His face flushed an unattractive beet red. Hesitantly, he glanced at the door.

"Well, uh…in that case, I apologize for holding you up, ma'am. I mean, Sheriff," the man dipped his head remorsefully and turned to punch the numbers in. The keypad buzzed and suddenly Emma was free to descend the stairs leading into the psych ward.

The first thing she saw was a middle-aged nurse in an old-fashioned white nurse's uniform, hair held back in a severe bun, and leaning against the chalky wall outside the visitor's desk. Emma cringed at the sight of her. _What kind of nurse still wears that thing? She looks like she's stuck in the 80s. _

"Sheriff Swan. I'm here to take a look at the missing patient's cell," she informed the nurse, who stared back skeptically with cold gray, red-rimmed eyes.

"That girl attacked me. Stuck me with a syringe, she did," the nurse babbled. Emma spotted Regina and Dr. Whale standing near a cell and she strode past the nurse. "Hey! Wait! You can't just—"

"You know what? I'll check it out myself," Emma snapped as she approached the two tense figures up ahead.

The minute Regina noticed her, her dark eyes flashed with pure annoyance. Dr. Whale barely inclined his head to acknowledge her. _No, but I bet you'd notice me if I were dressed like Ruby with super-long legs, wouldn't you, Doctor? _

"Sheriff Swan," Regina spat her name as if it were distasteful in her mouth. "Just what do you think you're doing here?" Emma faked a smile and peered into the cell. It was no bigger than a broom cupboard and stank of mildew. _Poor girl. I'd have wanted to get out, too. _

"Last time I checked, I was doing my job. You wanted me to find this girl and I am." Regina pouted her red lips while Dr. Whale brushed his hand along the bridge of his nose. It was more crooked than Pinocchio's.

"Well, I suggest you branch out. There's nothing here for you to see," Regina retorted, inching close to Emma's face. Emma barely flinched; instead, glaring as she practically shoved Regina out of her way.

"I'll be the judge of that," Emma shot over her shoulder as she crouched close to the gray floor, examining the narrow cell. Regina tapped her expensive heels obnoxiously, making it clear she was irritated. "I'm going to assume you haven't tossed her cell."

"We were actually about to do that," Dr. Whale offered, his voice muffled behind his hand. Regina spun to send him a piercing look with the simple message: _shut up. _Dr. Whale shrugged apologetically.

"Miss Swan, I already gave you a suggestion of where to begin your investigation," Regina reminded her, smoothing down the front of her black suit. Emma scoffed audibly while shifting aside the mattress.

"Yeah, you did. Mr. Gold. Until I find reasonable evidence that points in his direction, I'll be doing this my way." Emma frowned as she discovered a pile of paper scraps and a thin children's book. _Beauty and the Beast…interesting read in a town that Henry believes is filled with fairy tale characters. _"Who gave her the book? She certainly went to great lengths to keep it hidden."

Emma held it up so Regina could get a good look. The mayor's eyes lit up with surprise, but she quickly covered it up. Drowned it behind her impenetrable steel mask.

"Can you think of no one? Or any place that would sell such a book?" Emma knew what Regina was implying and she rolled her eyes. _Someone sure has a stick up her ass this morning. And for once it's not directed solely at me. _

"You really want it to be him, don't you? What even makes you think Gold has anything to do with this?" Regina crossed her arms and averted her gaze from Emma.

"All I'm doing, Sheriff, is giving you a lead. I want to find this girl just as much as you do," she insisted firmly, feigning sincerity. _Yeah, but not for the same reasons. Right, Regina? _

Emma bit her tongue and occupied herself with flipping through the pages of the book, searching for any clue the girl may have left behind. Directly in the middle, a piece of paper was wedged between two pages. It was written in a fine hand.

_Tonight. _

_Never come back. _

_-J_

_P.S. Sometimes the illusion of madness can be nearly as effective as madness itself. _

Emma's brow furrowed with puzzlement. She re-read the note again and again. _The illusion of madness? What the hell does that mean? _

"Who's J?" Emma glanced back at Regina, who was staring blankly at one of the gray walls, seemingly lost in her black thoughts. _Probably plotting who to make miserable today. Well, she's already succeeded with me. _

"That would have to be Jefferson," Dr. Whale answered amidst the uncomfortable silence. Emma blanched, the note clenched tight in her fingers. Her mind grew numb, fizzling as it tried to process what she just heard.

"Jefferson?" She choked the name out, all the while picturing a madman's smile and an unnatural scar circling around his neck. Regina's eyes snapped up, a smirk forming on her lips.

"Why? Do you know him, Sheriff?" Regina watched her curiously, detecting any slight recognition. Her stony eyes weighed Emma down. Emma didn't want to tell Regina about the night when Mary Margaret ran from custody. No need to give the mayor any more ammo against Mary Margaret.

"Um, no. Never heard of him. He just…sounded like someone I knew once," she lied, tucking the slip of paper back inside the book. She'd have to confiscate the book, if only to follow Regina's "advice" and ask Gold about it. _Though, it looks like this might've been Jefferson's doing. God knows where he went. _

"Unfortunately, Jefferson apparently went missing a few days ago," Regina told Emma, though her tone did not seem disappointed.

She got the feeling that Jefferson was someone Regina did not appreciate, much like Gold. _I know that Regina. You knew when I obtained that knowledge? Right after Mary Margaret sent him hurtling through a second-story window. Not that I'm sharing that exhilarating moment with you. _

Emma's eyes focused on the scraps of paper that had been stuffed under the mattress. It appeared to have been a map of Storybrooke, though it was so torn to shreds that it was impossible to make out any clues from it. Instead she swept it aside impatiently.

"Who evaluated this girl before she was institutionalized? Assuming, of course, you followed procedure and didn't just stick her in here like a bilge rat," Emma grumbled, getting to her feet. Regina stepped closer into the cell, her face growing dark.

"Are you insinuating something, Sheriff?" There was a warning note in Regina's voice, but Emma paid no mind to it. She matched the mayor's daunting glare.

"Maybe I am, Madame Mayor. This town has been screwed up for too long under your reign," Emma harshly whispered, making the mayor's face become stiff with anger. Dr. Whale pretended not to be listening, even though there was an amused smile on his face. "Who evaluated her? Declared her insane?"

For a moment, she thought Regina wasn't going to bother answering. Then, she gave an exasperated sigh.

"That would be Dr. Hopper, of course," she advised Emma unhappily. Emma nodded, adding his name to her list of "people to question." Maybe he could offer some insight to the workings of this girl's mind. _He'd certainly be more reasonable than Madame Mayor. _

"Great. I'll be speaking with him shortly, then. I think I've seen everything here," Emma noted, sliding past Regina and out of the cell. Time to get started on the real work. As an afterthought, Emma slowly turned back to face the two, unable to resist throwing in her two cents. "Hey, Whale."

Dr. Whale glanced up with an unnerved, startled expression. Emma smiled without much emotion.

"Nice nose job."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for Mr. Gold's roughness with Belle—I kind of wanted to show that he was still something of a "Beast" in this story. <strong>

**Well, that's all for now! But don't worry, because I have plans for this story. I just wish there was a way we could get these two back together on the show. **

**Speaking of the show, how did you all enjoy the latest episode? Such tempting cliffhangers…and only two more episodes left! Dun, dun, dun! **

**And of course I cannot forget to thank all my lovely reviewers! You guys rock! On that note, here is a shout-out to TheDanishWriter, Moonphase 9, The Sky Pirate Girl, Bluecanbegreen, becca, SqueakyDolphin6, megumisakura, Sheherazade's Fable, cuterosr1817, and Attracted2Insanity. **

**Thanks for the love, everyone! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry it took a while to update. I've been working on my other OUAT fics and I have a new one up as well. Feel free to check it out. **

**Thanks, everyone for reading this and reviewing! I hope you enjoy the next chapter as well. **

**Chapter Fourteen**

Emma slid behind the wheel of the cruiser, but didn't move to start the car.

It had taken some arguing and pulling of strings, but she had managed to convince the psych ward nurse to hand over the missing patient's file. She was going to need all the information she could get to find this girl.

Carefully, she flipped it open to see a photo of a pretty girl. It must have been taken the day she was locked away, because she still looked healthy—rosy skin, rich strands of hair, intelligent green eyes. No sign of any injections or markings to suggest she'd been continuously drugged over the years in a gray cell.

Behind it was another picture—this one taken some months after her imprisonment. Emma could see the change immediately. Lanky, greasy hair; sallow skin bordering on alabaster white; haunted, weary eyes. _I wonder if this girl even saw the sun. What did Regina do? Stick her in a cell like a flower and watched her decay? _

Emma's eyes trailed to the patient's name. Isabella French. _French…_Her mind flashed back to the night that Gold beat Moe French with his cane. The rage in his face and those words…

_You hurt her! You were her father! You hurt her! Look what you've done to her! She's not coming back! _

Had this been the girl he was talking about? If Gold had been that upset over the florist's daughter, then it implied—

"Hey, Emma," a tiny voice suddenly popped up behind her seat and Emma nearly jumped out of her own skin. A second more and she would've unleashed her gun. _That's a good way to get shot, kid. _She was just glad she hadn't been driving or bearing that gun at the moment. _Yeah, and then Regina would really have it out with me. _

"Henry! Don't do that," she scolded him, whipping around in her seat furiously. Her heart was thudding so hard she was sure people across town could hear it.

Henry climbed into the front seat and swung his legs innocently back and forth.

"Sorry. I was waiting for you. I figured you were looking for that missing girl. So, what've we got?" Emma tossed him an incredulous look.

"We?" Henry glared at her—and reminded her all too much of Regina. After a tense moment, she broke. "Alright, fine. Her name is Isabella French."

Henry's face scrunched in confusion.

"French? You mean the florist has a daughter?" Henry's eyes grew wide at that idea. Emma stared back at him—and here she'd thought maybe he could help her a bit. _Guess that's a straight 'no' for you. _

"You've never met her?" Henry shook his head.

"Never even heard of her," he said, taking the time to look at her photo. His face became determined as he flipped through the rest of the file.

"How is that possible? This town's not that small. You know everyone else. And it says in her file that she was only committed a few years ago, which means you weren't too much younger, either. How does that make sense?"

Henry shrugged. Then, his eyes lit up with understanding.

"It's because of the false memories. Everyone who's connected to her thinks she was committed a few years back. But, really, the Queen must have locked her up for twenty-eight years," he explained. Emma rubbed her temples. _Here we go with the hazy memories again. _

"Why exactly would Regina lock a girl away for so many years on purpose? Henry, this girl is ill. That's why I need to find her," she insisted, starting the car. "I'll be asking Archie about her as well. He apparently evaluated her once before she was locked up."

"She must have been someone important in the Fairy Tale world. Someone the Queen didn't want found," Henry protested, digging out his leather-bound book from the backseat. He never went anywhere without it, in case these kinds of situations showed up.

"Kid, I'm not looking for a fairy tale character. I need to focus on finding her in this world, with actual logic," Emma stated, pulling away from the curb. Henry gave a frustrated sigh and eyed her with curiosity.

"So, where are we going first?" _There's that 'we' again. The kid is lucky I'm starting to like him. _

"I figure I should start with the father, see if he can tell me anything about his daughter." _And maybe figure out what the hell happened between those three to cause such hatred in Mr. Gold. There's something not right here. And I'm going to find out what it is. _

* * *

><p>He was pacing restlessly in the library, thinking. Part of him wanted to go to Belle; part of him was still upset. He hadn't meant to be so rough with her. He just…lost control.<p>

_I told her not to enter this room, _he thought again, nerves jumping. His leg was complaining, but he ignored it, turning on his heel to stride back the way he came. And then again.

He never liked to be disobeyed. He was usually the one in control of the situation, playing the right cards. Didn't she know that?

_But she doesn't remember anything, _a logical voice sounded off in his head, fighting the red haze of his anger. He collapsed on the couch, resting his forehead against the head of his cane.

_Here I am, trying…doesn't she see that? _And he was. He was trying to cope with her miraculous reappearance, trying to please her.

_She doesn't remember anything…she was just curious, _the voice reasoned. He licked his lips, gripped his cane until the knuckles of his hand became bone white.

_She shouldn't have gone in. She should've left well enough alone. It's just…I'm finding it so difficult to accept her here. _He lifted his head to gaze absently at the fireplace. The tension slowly escaped his body. It had been twenty-nine years since he'd last seen her. He'd nearly forgotten how to act.

_Are you afraid to be gentle? Open? Vulnerable? If you allow yourself to be vulnerable with her, you're afraid you'll only lose her again. Gentle is what she needs right now after all the Queen's damage. _

That piece of logic was right. He could not afford to be so rough with her, not after all she'd been through. He could not afford to scare her away. _Except I wouldn't truly scare her away. Belle's braver than I am. _

_Perhaps I'm trying to control her too much. Perhaps I should apologize, _he surmised, already getting to his feet. A darker, silkier voice made him pause. The voice of the Dark One.

_Or perhaps she should apologize to you. She should be grateful to you…and this is how she repays you? Disobeying your word? She should be kneeling at your feet, begging for your power. Make her plead. _

And in his mind, he could picture it perfectly. Belle, settled on the ground before him, head dipped in acknowledgment, eyes wet with tears and the word "please" tumbling repeatedly from her mouth…

_No! _He suddenly snapped back to reality, back to this world, back to his own mind. _I am through succumbing to that wretched curse. I am doing this my way. _

The Dark One was silent as Mr. Gold left the library, easing his mind. _As it should be. _

* * *

><p>The French house looked just as big and inviting as the rest of the houses lining the streets in Storybrooke.<p>

Emma and Henry climbed the small steps to the door, but it opened before either one could knock. Moe French stood there, still wearing a cast from his encounter with Gold. His bruises were almost gone, just yellow patches on his skin. He gaped at them in surprise.

"Going somewhere?" Emma blocked most of the doorway while Henry gave Moe French a serious once-over. French held his hands up in caution.

"Uh…did I do something wrong, Sheriff?" He kept avoiding her eyes, stepping back into the house. Emma shrugged.

"That remains to be seen. Where are you going?" French wiped a hand across his forehead and winced as it swept over one of his bruises. The guy was in a sorry state.

"Where do you think I'm going? I'm heading to my flower shop. I've got a lot of orders to fill today. What's with the kid?" French gestured to Henry curiously.

"We're playing 'good cop, bad cop,'" Henry answered. French's eyes switched to Emma.

"Really? Which one of you is the bad cop?" Henry smiled.

"It's always the shorter one in cop movies," he hinted. Emma shook her head as French hesitantly invited them in, giving Henry a wary look. Maybe he didn't like the fact that Henry was carrying a large leather book that would serve as a good weapon for knocking someone over the head.

"Now, what is this about?" French led them to the kitchen and offered them a seat. Henry took one, but Emma stood. She peered around—a normal white kitchen that was nearly spotless. French pulled out a couple of sodas, but Emma refused one.

"Mr. French…were you aware that your daughter escaped from the hospital last night?" French guzzled down his soda, but paused. Again he averted his gaze and shuffled his weight uneasily. He knew.

"Yes, I received a call from the Mayor and Dr. Whale informing me about her…escape. But I swear, I haven't seen her," he replied. Emma leveled her gaze at him, trying out her "power." He was telling the truth.

"When's the last time you visited her?" Henry slurped down his soda, careful not to spill it on his book. French made a show of thinking back.

"I think…it was around Christmas. I always try to bring her a book since she always loved to read, but the nurses never allow it. I wish I could have visited her more, but I'm always so busy with the shop. And now…I don't even know where she could be."

This perked Henry's interest for some reason and he began flipping through his book. She assumed the extra details were helping him towards figuring out Isabella's counterpart. Emma couldn't help feeling sorry for French—he was obviously worried for his daughter now.

"What kind of signs did she show…before she was locked away?" French crushed the soda can in his fist.

"If you're asking whether she's dangerous, she's not. My girl would never hurt anyone. She just…she grew very unhappy and there was a point where I could hardly reach her. That's when I agreed to seek help for her," he explained carefully, his face growing anxious at the memory.

"Agreed? As in someone suggested it to you?" French stalled and she knew he slipped. He didn't want to tell her. "If you're holding something back that can be used to find her, I can take you in for obstruction of justice."

French sighed and slammed the soda can on the counter.

"It was the Mayor. She saw how bad my daughter had gotten and suggested she could arrange for…for temporary committal. Just to help her." Emma nodded—she'd suspected Regina had recommended it. _She's the Mayor. She has her hands in everything. _

"So, what? You just lock your daughter away? You just hand her over to someplace worse? 'Cause she certainly wasn't getting any better," Emma informed him, anger pumping through her. Suddenly, she supposed she could see how Gold could detest someone like French. Too afraid to fight for his own daughter.

"I think of that every damn day. If I could go back, if I could change my mind…I would," he swore, practically shaking with distraught. Emma shook her head and Henry watched them both intently. "Please find her."

"I will," Emma promised, motioning for Henry to stand up to leave. "Just one more question: did Gold personally know your daughter?" French's face went white at the name and his eyes scanned the room as if he imagined the pawnbroker would pop up out of nowhere to beat him again.

"N-no…I don't think he ever crossed paths with her," he admitted, holding onto the counter for support. Emma nodded and escorted Henry to the door. _Curiouser and curiouser, _she thought as the problem with Gold only seemed to become more tangled. "Mr. French, I expect you to call me if your daughter shows up here."

French followed them to the door. He nodded frantically.

"Of course I will. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help, Sheriff," he politely replied, closing the door behind them. Emma watched French start down the street, off in a hurry to his shop.

Neither of them needed to really acknowledge the truth. If Isabella French ever showed up at home, French would never consider picking up the phone.

* * *

><p>She had hardly left the comfort of her room since that disastrous moment in the library. For dinner, he had brought her a tray of food and knocked lightly on her door to let her know it was there.<p>

At first, she didn't even have the will to lift herself from the bed. But when she was hungry enough, she went to retrieve the tray of food and she surprised herself by eating every last crumb. Belly full and satisfied, she had fallen into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Isabella carried the tray downstairs with her. She found Mr. Gold examining the cuckoo clock in the living room and he raised his head to greet her. His eyes were sad and regretful—he felt sorry for the scene yesterday.

Isabella hesitantly went to the kitchen to stow away the tray. She could hear his footsteps as he followed behind her, his cane tapping on the hardwood floors. As she placed the tray on the table, he lingered on the threshold.

"I hope…you can forgive me for my rude behavior last night," he slowly apologized to her. Isabella turned to gaze at him and she smiled.

"I should be the one apologizing. You told me not to enter that room and I didn't listen." She inclined her head as she studied him. He was tense before he approached her, extending a hand.

"Come with me," he requested lightly. Isabella hesitated only a second before placing her hand in his, allowing him to guide her out into the hall and towards the stairs. "Do me a favor. Close your eyes."

A small smile played on her lips as she did as he asked, keeping her eyes closed as they ascended the stairs. At the top, he guided her to the left and she suddenly knew where he was heading. But she played along and never even peeked.

A few steps and he paused. There was the opening of the doors and his arm was on the small of her back as she carefully stepped forward. A cool breeze skated along her arms, giving her goose-bumps.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" She could feel Mr. Gold remove his hand from her back and take a step back. She could already smell the pages of the books.

"Now," he told her and her eyes shot open. She was right—they were in the library and it was just as marvelous as the first time she'd seen t. Maybe even better. It was the same feeling as when a child entered a grand toy store and wasn't sure which toy to check out first. It was all so…wonderful.

Smiling, she turned back to him.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," she said softly, folding her hands modestly before her. Mr. Gold leaned against the doorframe and seemed pleased with her reaction.

"I'm glad you appreciate it, Belle. I'm giving it to you," he told her, motioning to the entirety of the library. It was then her heart nearly stopped in her chest. She gazed around at the mountain of shelves and books—she could very well spend hours here. _Truly he doesn't mean it. This library…it's enormous! _

"Surely, you don't mean—" But Mr. Gold swiftly crossed to her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"I do. This library shall be yours. As well as everything in it. Consider it my true apology." Isabella was practically speechless, her heart rising with joy. It was the best gift anyone had ever given her before. Before she could think, she had wrapped her arms around Mr. Gold.

"Thank you," she whispered into his neck. He was still for a moment and then rubbed a hand across her back. Gently, she pulled away. It had been an odd thing to do to someone she'd only met a day ago. _But then why do I feel like I've known you much longer? _"I'm sorry. My excitement got the best of me, I suppose."

Mr. Gold had a dreamy look in his eyes. He straightened his jacket carefully.

"No harm done. It's been a while since anyone has shown affection towards me, actually," he admitted, averting his gaze from her. Isabella frowned with sympathy. Did this man truly have no one who cared? Or did no one simply bother to see past his name?

Decidedly, she neared him again and willingly embraced him. This time, his arms encircled her waist and held her close. She knew she should have felt uncomfortable, given the difference in their age and the fact they were technically strangers…but somehow it felt right. She could have stayed here forever, just like this.

And she was reluctant to separate her body from his, but she knew he probably needed to head off to his shop. He seemed to realize it as well, checking the time.

"Perhaps I'll bring that clock to my shop and have it repaired," he murmured, heading for the library doors. He half-turned back as Isabella wandered to one of the closest shelves. "I expect I'll know where to find you when I arrive home tonight."

She was already gone, having selected a book from the shelf and had it cracked open long before she settled on the couch. Mr. Gold watched her for just another moment, wanting so much to turn back time and freeze that moment where she had embraced him.

But life in Storybrooke carried on…and so must he.

As much as he desired to stay with her, he knew it was out of the question. The Queen would grow suspicious if he failed to open his shop, if she wasn't already. And if she was suspicious, she'd set Emma Swan on him to investigate.

And he vowed never to lose his beauty again.

* * *

><p><strong>A pretty long chapter, I'd say. The newest episode was very good, in my opinion. Jefferson is back, there were some good Gold scenes (and one particular way to break the curse apparently—not the ONLY one, I hope), and Snow White finally bit the poison apple! Gasp! Did you all see that ending? And the finale looks so good with Jefferson and Belle returning…Okay, I'm done ranting now. <strong>

**Again I would like to thank those that reviewed recently (what would I do without you guys?): A Sapphire Rose, Sorcelle Dragonmoon, JustMe279, The Sky Pirate Girl, megumisakura, Attracted2Insanity, Bluecanbegreen, Syaunei, Sheherazade's Fable, Moonphase9, and The Danish Writer. **

**Thanks everyone for the support! **


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Le gasp! I am sorry for the wait, guys! I made this chapter extra long (and hopefully good) just to make it up to you. **_

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

Emma had opted to leave Henry at home while she spoke to Archie that morning. There was no time for 'good cop, bad cop' right now.

The kid had complained and insisted he be there to hear what Archie had to say, but she was sure he'd find something to occupy himself with. He'd been doing it for ten years before she arrived, anyway.

Thousands of thoughts and questions penetrated her mind, but at the center of that web was Mr. Gold. Somehow, he fit into this puzzle. She just had to find the right piece.

The door opened an instant after she knocked. _Business must be slow this morning, _she thought as Archie appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a beige suit with a sweater vest, glasses sliding crookedly off his nose, complete with a natural air of trustworthiness, Emma figured Archie was the poster boy for therapists.

He smiled warmly in greeting and extended a hand to her, which was empty of rings.

"Sheriff Swan. What can I do for you?" Emma ignored his hand, burrowing her fists in the pockets of her leather jacket. Archie cleared his throat and dropped his hand.

"Dr. Hopper. I was hoping to get your opinion on a girl you evaluated a few years ago—" Archie held up a hand to stop her. An apologetic look crossed his face, pinching the edges of his lips.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Doctor-patient confidentiality prevents me from releasing any information on my patients. I wish I could help…" He shrugged, his hand on the edge of the door. Emma slid her foot in to block him from shutting her out.

"All I want is your _opinion_ of her. Her name is Isabella French and she just escaped the psych ward. I need to know if she's dangerous. More specifically, I need to know how her mind works if I'm going to find her."

Archie paused and she could sense his defenses were weakening. Running a hand along his tired face, he sighed and pulled open the door again, gesturing for her to come in.

"I'll tell you what I can," he said as he led her to his couch. The shades were drawn over the windows, casting a dim glow over the room. It smelled of old pages and ink. Archie offered Emma tea and coffee, but she declined.

Archie settled in his armchair across from the couch and his eyes grew cloudy. The seconds on the clock ticked by.

"So…Isabella French?" Archie nodded frantically, struggling for words.

"I evaluated Isabella French approximately three years ago, when she was only sixteen. She was…a strange case." Archie anxiously removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. Emma leaned forward, watching him intently.

"Strange how?" Archie shoved his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and shook his head vehemently.

"Sheriff—"

"Emma," she corrected, hating the formal Sheriff title. She didn't need constant reminding of the responsibility on her shoulders in this town. Archie coughed.

"Emma. I'm sorry, really. It would defy my code of conduct to divulge information pertaining to my sessions with Isabella French." Emma dug her nails into her jeans in frustration, absently playing with an unraveled string of thread.

"Okay…what was she diagnosed with after you evaluated her?" Archie bit down on his lip tentatively and Emma scowled. "Come on! Give me something to work with!" Archie motioned for her to calm down, which only served to make her more agitated. "Archie, that girl is out there somewhere! How am I supposed to find her if I know next to nothing about her?"

"I understand your frustration, Sheriff. Okay, I can tell you that Isabella…she exhibited signs of depression and hallucinations. There were often times where she'd zone out or have dreams of…" His voice trailed off.

"Of?" Emma prodded the doctor.

"Dreams of another life." Emma froze. _Another life. Wouldn't the kid be thrilled to hear that? _"Regina arranged for her to be placed in a secure psych ward." Emma grimaced at Regina's name. Was the Mayor involved with everything?

"Obviously it wasn't as secure as she thought," she grumbled. Archie's face grew red and he averted his gaze. "Did she ever mention Mr. Gold?" Archie's head shot up. Puzzlement marked his features.

"Mr. Gold? No, never. I don't believe those two even met," he replied confidently. Emma raked a hand through her blonde waves. _Thanks for the lead, Regina. Turning out to be a dead end. _

"Was there any particular place she enjoyed in Storybrooke? A place she might have returned to?" Archie's face was dismal and not very helpful.

"I don't think so. Isabella was never seen much around town. Very reserved and kept to herself. The only times I recalled seeing her was when she'd visit her father at his flower shop. Isabella's world mostly existed in the pages of books—she always had her nose in one."

Emma mused over the details and stood. Archie did the same, prepared to escort her to the door even though it was only a few feet away. Before she could open it, he lightly touched her elbow.

"If you truly want my opinion, Emma, I don't believe that girl is dangerous. To me, she seemed lonely and unhappy with the world around her. It seemed she was always desperately searching for something that was missing. But that girl was the type who would never willingly hurt a fly, let alone another human being."

"Yeah, well she did a good job breaking Dr. Whale's nose when he tried to grab her," Emma stated, recalling the crooked shape of it. Archie's eyes were gravely serious.

"You want to know what I think, Emma? I think Isabella French is no more mentally incapacitated than the rest of us in Storybrooke, capable of coherent thought even. In other words, I think Isabella French knew _exactly _what she was doing."

* * *

><p>To this day, Emma had never particularly liked walking into Mr. Gold's pawnshop. For some reason, it always felt like she was venturing into the lair of a beast. One who, quite conveniently, never seemed to be beaten.<p>

And those puppets on the counter…those were just creepy. Emma half-expected their eyes to track her movements.

"Gold?" Her voice rang out through the shop, but all that returned was silence.

She gazed around at the clutter of objects, all the while clutching Isabella's book in her hand. Her finger thumbed the note that was sticking out of the pages—by now, its message was burned into her brain.

She wondered if either Jefferson or Isabella had stepped into this shop recently. Though, if Gold were hiding away Isabella French, she'd bet it wouldn't be in his shop. It would be somewhere where the chances of being discovered were not so great, like—

"Emma," the rich voice interrupted her train of thought.

She turned to see the immaculate pawnbroker leering at her from behind the counter. His natural air of control and power filled the room, but her eyes never faltered. His brown eyes, dark as fresh, overturned earth, gleamed as he drank her in.

"My, my…so many visitors today," he commented softly, splaying his hands atop the counter. Emma narrowed her eyes, her guard up as high as it could go. She never liked Gold, never trusted him.

"What do you mean?" Mr. Gold tilted his head in amusement—he marveled being the one with valuable information, the one who pulled the strings at his will. "Well?"

A noticeable smirk played on his lips and Emma wanted to slap it off him.

"I just saw your boy come in. Claimed he was searching for a gift in celebration of Ms. Blanchard's release. How is our lovely jailbird faring with her newfound freedom?" Emma ignored his probing question and latched onto the mention of Henry. _Can't the kid listen and stay home for once? The last thing I want is him talking to someone like Gold. _

"Claimed?" _As in…you're insinuating he had an ulterior motive? Not all people are as devious as you. _

Mr. Gold took up his cane and circled the display case, the cane making a dull thud against the hardwood floors. He stopped a few feet from Emma, smiling wryly.

"Indeed. You see, while little Henry was…_preoccupying _me, our mysterious stranger was lurking in the back of my shop. It seemed he was searching for a particular item as well. Though I doubt it was meant for a gift."

Emma frowned. August and Henry? Searching for something? _Searching for a particular item. Or…a particular person. She's not here. _

"Please. I was just in the process of arranging a cup of tea. Would you care for some…Emma?" She hated the way he said her name, leisurely and emphatically. As if he enjoyed hearing it roll off that snake-like tongue of his. It sent a shiver along her arms.

Still, she kept her eyes on him and rushed forward to slam the book on the counter. His eyes flickered briefly to it, but his face remained blank, any emotions hidden underneath an impenetrable black mask.

"You wouldn't happen to recognize this book, would you?" She watched intently as Mr. Gold's fingers lightly brushed over the spine of the book, his lips thinning anxiously. His grip tightened slightly on the head of his cane.

"Yes. I certainly recognize that particular tale," he answered smoothly, betraying nothing. Emma stared at him.

This was a game, wasn't it? Words, contracts meant everything to him. She lifted the book and nearly waved it in his face.

"Did someone buy this book from your shop?" Emma spoke every word through gritted teeth, gesturing around the place. The edges of Mr. Gold's lips upturned gently, the message in his eyes reading _'wouldn't you like to know.' _

"Perhaps. Forgive me, Sheriff. My memory is not what it used to be," he casually pointed out, leaning forward on his cane. He waited. She knew what he wanted. _Damn it. Does the man do nothing without a price tag involved? _

Emma cursed under her breath. The worst part was…she had little choice. _Every piece of the puzzle counts. _

"What do you want?" Gold smirked.

"Always the operative question, isn't it? Price…everything comes with a price, Miss Swan." Emma quite literally bit down on her tongue and waited for Gold to quit gloating. "Let's see…another favor will do, I think."

Again Emma cursed under her breath. _That makes it two favors now. _

"Deal," she reluctantly agreed, clasping his hand. His grip was firm, almost like chains wrapping around her, claiming her. Emma ripped her hand away harshly and Gold curled his fingers. "So this book…it came from your shop."

Mr. Gold's memory seemed to snap right back like a rubber band. _Imagine that. _

"Indeed. That book was purchased recently," he mentioned calmly. Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "From a man named Jefferson. I take it you've heard of him."

That was what she figured. Jefferson had bought the book for Isabella. _But what did he pay for it? I know Gold too well—he doesn't discuss other business deals so easily. _

"You know what? I'll take that cup of tea after all," she said, forcing a smile. Gold inclined his head at her, returning his own chilling smile. It made her skin crawl.

"Of course, Miss Swan. Excuse me."

The moment he vanished behind the curtain, Emma leaped around the counter and started sifting through drawers, boxes, cabinets. Anything to find some shred of evidence that Gold was involved in this. She just needed to know.

There were a bunch of papers inside one drawer, neatly stacked. Business matters, probably. She quickly scanned over them and grabbed the note from the book. She reached down to pull out one of the papers—

"Miss Swan, I would very much appreciate if I could review that search warrant again," his voice came from close behind her. She never even heard him return. She jumped up, slamming the drawer closed with her leg.

Gold did not look pleased with her now. The smile was gone, those brown eyes unreadable and dark. Emma stepped away from the counter.

"I was just—"

"Rifling through my belongings. How about that search warrant?" His voice was low and dangerous, warning her. Challenging her. He knew damn well she didn't have one.

In what seemed like a single move, he was towering over her, his hand gripping her wrist painfully.

"Let go of me," she hissed at him, wrenching her arm back. He tightened his fingers into a fist and dropped it by his side. If anything, she could tell he was furious.

"Whatever it is you're intending to find, _Emma_, I assure you that you would not find it here. Now, if you please…leave my shop," he requested through clenched teeth. _Probably not a bad idea, _Emma thought, snatching up the book and note.

And she never glanced back.

* * *

><p><em>Tonight, she was inside his castle again. It seemed to be the only place she ever dreamed of him. It did not look quite the same, though. The entrance hall…it was different, empty. <em>

_The elongated dining table was gone and the hall felt impossibly vacuous without it. All that was left in its place was a small round table with a vase of roses on top—except the roses were dried out, shriveled black as if he'd lost the will to care for them. The spinning wheel was no longer in the corner, either. _

Odd. It was always there in my other dreams. And he would always be spinning.

_Though the drapes concealed the frosty windows, it was cold. There were little patches of goose-bumps on her bare arms. She glanced down to see she was clad in the well-fitting blue dress with short white sleeves. She'd worn it many a time in these dreams, almost always. _

_Still, it felt right. _

_Allowing her heart to guide her, she drifted up the marble staircase in search of him. He was here; she could sense his presence beckoning her. _

_He was in the library, his back facing her as he spun his straw into gleaming gold. _Gold…gold…_The word echoed in her mind, the name of the man this dealmaker reminded her of. _

_She noticed his library was enormous, much like Mr. Gold's library. As she neared him, his fingers paused and the wheel halted in its movement. Her heart fluttered in her throat as she longed for him to turn around. _

_"Back again, dearie. What can I do for you this time? Another kiss, perhaps?" She slowly made her way across the room to him, circling around the spinning wheel. The minute she did, he abruptly leaped up from his seat and glided to the other side of the room, away from her. _

_He was hiding his face from her. _Why?

_Again, with more purpose, she approached him and darted around to peer at his face, but he did the same thing as before. He shifted away so only his back faced her. She sighed impatiently. _

_"Why do you insist on hiding your face?" She watched as his lanky hair cascaded down, shielding his features. Reaching out, she carefully laid a hand on his shoulder. Immediately he tensed up under her fingers. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered. _

_"You should be." Three words, spoken with that rich accent and reluctantly spat through gritted teeth. He sounded as if he were convinced by it—as if he viewed his reflection in a mirror and only saw a monster. _I'm not afraid…

_"Please," she softly pleaded, urging him to turn towards her. Under the guidance of her touch, he hesitantly rotated and she was able to witness that familiar, mystical face. She smiled reassuringly. _

_Gently, she inched closer, all the while with his wide golden eyes surveying her like a hawk. Carefully, she lifted her hand and caressed his face. It was quite warm and her hand lingered there. _

_Something broke inside him then—the walls tumbled down and his own golden-gray hand reached up to hold hers against his skin. _

_"Belle," he moaned longingly. This time, he sounded exactly like Mr. Gold. _Maybe it's really him I'm dreaming of. _The man before her licked his lips and narrowed his eyes seriously. "Do you remember my name?" _

_Her mind was fuzzy now as she searched for the right answer. He waited patiently, his fingers stroking her hand. _

_"Aren't you…Mr. Gold?" The man giggled half-heartedly and then shook his head. _Wrong, dearie, _he might as well have spoken aloud. Her hopes sank just a bit. _

_"My true name," he clarified, drawing her closer. She leisurely bent her head back, into his waiting palm. _Think…think…

_A light dawned inside her, growing bright. It flickered like the flame of a candle. It was on the tip of her tongue…_

_"Yes, I know it. Your name…it's Ru—" _

* * *

><p><em>Bam! Ow…<em>

Isabella was startled awake as her body landed stiffly on the floor of Mr. Gold's library. Bits and pieces returned to her—she had been reading, then yawning, and finally she'd closed her eyes for a moment. The book in question was sprawled spine up a few feet away.

Quickly, rubbing her sore elbows, Isabella gathered up the book, just as Mr. Gold rushed into the library. She hadn't even realized he'd arrived home. His brown eyes filled with relief as he scrutinized her from the threshold.

"I heard a rather jarring noise. Are you alright, my dear?" Isabella was surprised to register his concern. She smiled and set the book on the table.

"I'm fine, really. I was dreaming and I must have rolled off the couch." Mr. Gold nodded thoughtfully.

Slowly, he entered the room, taking his time with his leg. She wondered how he had obtained the injured, but thought it rude to ask.

"If you don't mind my asking, what is it you were dreaming so enthusiastically about?" Mr. Gold paused near the fireplace, smoothing a hand over the mantle. Isabella could still picture that other man in her mind.

"Actually, I think I was dreaming…of you." That hand stopped, just as the spinning wheel in her dream had stopped. An expression of surprise crossed his face.

"Of me?" She nodded. He seemed to mull this over for a good minute before wandering closer to her. Her heart was beating so rapidly inside her chest; she was certain he could hear it. "My, I hope I wasn't doing anything embarrassing." She blushed, wringing her hands together.

When her eyes next met his, the library—the world even—faded away. Nothing mattered except him and it was like a golden thread was pulling her towards him. His brown eyes were gleaming with wonder. _Does he feel it, too? _

Déjà vu passed over her. Mirroring her actions in the dream, Isabella gently traced his face with a hand. And, similar to the dream, Mr. Gold held her hand there with his own.

"I know you," she whispered and it rang true in every last cell of her body.

Mr. Gold nodded, every ounce of his attention focused on her. His other hand dropped the cane, though neither of them heard it clatter. His elegant fingers supported the back of her head.

"Yes. Perhaps…in another life," he told her softly.

"Perhaps…" She repeated dreamily. Gradually, her face came closer to his and she ultimately could not stop. Blissfully, his eyes closed as he anticipated it, her lips inches from his…

Logic jolted back into her head like a freight train. _What am I doing? I haven't even known him for a week, no matter what those dreams tell me. _She slipped out of his grasp and his eyes shot open. She thought she saw a hint of disappointment.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have—" Mr. Gold held up a hand to stop her, his hair sweeping across his eyes.

"No. If anyone should apologize, it should be me," he intercepted. Isabella had the sense that there was a deeper meaning to that statement. Carefully, she bent to retrieve his cane and offered it to him. "Thank you, dearie."

Isabella kindly stepped out of his way. What she did not expect was the gesture for her to follow. Obediently she did and only faltered when she realized they were heading for his room.

She had only been in his room once, when she was exploring the house. What reason did he have to bring her there now? Unless…_Unless he's secretly hoping to continue our intimate behavior in his room. _

Butterflies danced in her stomach as she followed him inside. She was prepared for him to turn on her, to grab ahold of her, something along those lines. She was not prepared when he motioned to two different ties that were spread on his bed.

"I was just in the process of deciding which one was best. Which do you prefer?" It was then she noticed he was not wearing a tie, his shirt slightly open to reveal the skin beneath it. Isabella glanced at the ties and then at him.

"You're asking me what I think?" It was odd—no one had seemed so ready to hear what she had to say. Then again, most people were put off by the fact that her nose was always in a book before being imprisoned.

"Of course. I value your opinion," he assured her.

Isabella walked over to the bed and studied the selections. There was a dark tie, almost black and there was a crimson tie that reminded her of the color of that dream man's leather ensemble. Her fingers traced it.

"That one," she pointed it out. Mr. Gold smiled and made to put it on.

"I thought so. That would have been my choice as well." She smiled proudly at that. He finished, but seemed to be searching for words to fill the silence between them. "It's a welcome home party for one of our citizens. I won't be long tonight," he promised.

"It's fine," she automatically said, gaze lowered toward the floor. Mr. Gold came closer and lifted her hand to his lips. Thrills shot down into her toes as his lips lingered on her skin longer than they should have.

All too soon, the moment was over and he was descending the stairs. The door closed and she was alone.

And for the life of her, no matter how hard she tried, she could not remember the name that may have slipped from her lips in the dream.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ooh, I know—I'm cruel. So close, yet so far away. <strong>_

_**Also, I want to thank all the reviewers: ChimericKat, Sorcelle Dragonmoon, The Sky Pirate Girl, Bluecanbegreen, pookiespeer, Sheherazade's Fable, JustMe279, and megumisakura. **_

_**And the finale was absolutely amazing—though I do kind of wish those two kissed at the end. Oh, well; now we can only wait for season 2. **_


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: Hey, readers! I know it's been a while since I updated for this story and for that I am sorry! I've been busy with two of my other stories recently. Thankfully, this is a rather long chapter, so I hope all of you like it. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

It had been so long since she had seen the golden sun. It had been so long since she had breathed in air that was fresh, not tainted with the gruesome stench of old straw, sticky grime, and rat urine. It had been so long since she had felt the smooth, dewy grass between her bare toes, since she had enriched her mind with the pages of books, since she had…_smiled. _

It had been too long. She was beginning to forget what those experiences were like.

Her world was so limited now.

A small cell filled with itchy, rough straw and the squeak of black, beady-eyed rats with long, ropey tails that skittered across the ground. She barely even spoke a word to the guards that checked on her from time to time, though their rounds were becoming fewer, the time stretching far between their visits.

Where she would once raise her eyes in defiance and courage, her eyes remained downcast and bleak, indifferent to the stares of the guards. She barely whimpered now despite the discomfort in her arms and back.

Oh, the wounds hurt so much. If she shifted the wrong way, the scars tightened and her body screamed in agony. Her legs would go numb from sitting in one position for so long, her skin tingling from falling asleep. Would she soon forget how to feel as well?

At first, when she had still held hope for escaping this prison and once again rejoining the outside world, she would slip out the mirror that was hidden beneath the straw. The magic mirror that Jefferson had given her that allowed her to view anything with a simple wish. At first, it had fueled her hope for escape—her desire for that rich, beautiful world so great.

But as time passed in that dreary, forgotten cell, with those angry red scars on the inside of her arms, something inside her changed. Something inside her broke away.

There was no escape…was there? The Queen had made sure of that, had made true to her threats.

The mirror was tantalizing more than it was helpful, always torturing her with all it offered. Yes, it showed her that outside world beyond these walls, but it was something she could not gain. Something she could not have. Look, don't touch.

Soon, she didn't bother with the mirror at all, just left it buried under the straw. Her mind grew feeble and sluggish as she stared at the gloomy gray wall, trying to ignore the aches in her body.

Today, that old flame of courage flickered up once more, though she could not explain why. Slowly, she raised her head away from the wall, her hair hanging in wiry strands and clinging to the back of her neck. Her pale, sore fingers scrambled under the straw for the magic mirror, tossing handfuls of it away in her urgency to locate it.

Relief soothed her as she laid eyes on it and gripped its beautifully intricate handle. Her finger traced a rose as she held the mirror in front of her, its shiny surface sparkling in the low light of the dungeon.

"Show me…" A raspy voice, spurned only from disuse, echoed along the walls. It took her a moment to realize it belonged to her. She winced—even her voice had long ago become forgotten and strained due to the conditions of her confinement.

Coughing, she started again.

"Show me…Rumpelstiltskin. Please," she added on for good measure. Did the mirror consider politeness or would it still resolve to work in a way that was unnatural from its standard purpose?

The mirror's glass surface shined and then rippled, like gentle water after first being disrupted by a pebble. A hazy image appeared and her heart tugged fiercely inside her chest. She bit down on her lip—it was all she could do not to cry out loud.

Many a time she had sought out her true love in the confines of this magical mirror. Often, she was content to watch him spin as he was so very fond of doing. Lying out across the cool, damp ground, she would watch his slender fingers work that dull straw into glistening gold, watched the wheel spin hypnotically until her eyes grew heavy.

She would close her eyes and imagine that she was on that ladder once more, tugging at nailed drapes and observing her keeper as he did what no other man could hope to accomplish. If only he were still there to catch her.

This time…everything was wrong.

Rumpelstiltskin stood beside his wheel, his gold-skinned fingers delicately spinning it…but it was not for the production of gold. An anxious, pained expression marred his face.

He was thinking of _her. _Somehow, she just knew. More so…he was struggling to forget. It made water well up in her eyes, made her fingers clench the mirror until one of the upraised ivory roses pinched her skin.

What happened next forced her eyes to remain glued to the mirror, her heart jumping into her throat.

The Queen, whom she had not seen since that terrible night where her fair skin was charred with a burning iron rod, strode into the Dark Castle as if she were the rightful heir.

Belle saw the pain and grief in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes as they discussed her, unaware that she was hanging on every word. She listened as the Queen told him a story—a _lie_—of how her father ordered her cleansed from Rumpelstiltskin's defilement only to drive her to jump off the top of a tower to her demise.

"No," she murmured as the worst part came: he believed her story. Rumpelstiltskin, her true love, believed her dead. It tore her heart into pieces. "No, no, _no!" I'm not dead! The Queen is lying to you! Please…_She wanted to scream out to him, but of course he would not hear her. The mirror did not work that way, either.

As the Queen departed from the castle, as Rumpelstiltskin placed that delicate chipped cup on a lonely pedestal to preserve her memory, she curled into a ball amidst the straw and wept, moaning that one syllable until her mind ached.

And suddenly, those wounds on the outside did not compare to the ones carved on the inside.

* * *

><p>It had been a while since she had been outside.<p>

Mostly, it was the irrational fear that stopped her on the threshold. The fear that the moment she stepped foot beyond the house that she would be caught, drugged, thrust into that cell again where light did not exist and time was irrelevant.

And what would happen to Mr. Gold? After all, his kindness did not change the fact that he was harboring a runaway mental patient. She was sure he did not deserve to be dragged down with her. _Stay inside, Isabella. Inside means safety. Outside means sacrificing that freedom…there will always be the risk of returning to that place…_

But what if nothing bad happened? Perhaps she could be brave, step just beyond the haven of this house for a single moment. Besides, it was night—not many would be out and about to notice her.

Sucking in a timid breath, she turned the knob of the back door and edged it open. Just an inch or two, no more. Enough to allow in a slant of moonlight, but not enough to slip through.

Just as fearfully, she closed the door. It was much safer to stay inside, to read a nice book in the warmth of the library. Oh, but her skin thirsted for the cool night air and the sight of the glittering stars overhead. Maybe for a second…

The minute she stepped outside, a cool breeze hit her face. It lifted her hair softly and brushed the nape of her neck. It felt good.

Isabella took a few steps forward, daring to distance herself from the threshold. There wasn't much of a garden in the yard, but she could imagine a beautiful one. Flowers everywhere, especially roses. Perhaps a lovely bench that would allow her to sit and read under the sun.

The mental fabrication of that garden brought a smile to her face. Slipping off her shoes—Mr. Gold had managed to acquire some fresh clothes for her—Isabella savored the feel of the grass under her feet. The blades of grass tickled a bit and she laughed.

Tilting her head upwards, she gazed up at the night sky and marveled at the glowing stars above. If only she could just…could just…

An idea popped into her mind and it was impossible to ignore once it was there. Isabella gently lowered herself onto the ground, until she was lying flat on her back. There—now she could simply stare up at the stars. She imagined trying to count them all, but there were so many!

Isabella enjoyed the sensation of the cool earth beneath her back and the fact that there wasn't anyone to see her or ruin this wonderful moment. Smile growing, Isabella closed her eyes and began to hum in her happiness.

* * *

><p>He had just been strolling along the street when he heard it. Actually, he had been strolling along and thinking of Mary Margaret, all the while letting his feet carry him where they would.<p>

David couldn't help but feel an ache in his chest when Emma told him Mary Margaret refused to see him, that she didn't even want him at her party. It was true he hadn't believed in her towards the end of this disaster…but he planned to make up for that somehow.

No matter what he did, he couldn't get Mary Margaret out of his mind. And Kathryn had understood that his heart belonged somewhere else…so was being with Mary Margaret really a bad thing now?

He had no clue what to do anymore.

It was while he was absently heading past Mr. Gold's house that he heard it. Humming. Soft, beautiful humming that danced on the wind. That was odd, considering that Mr. Gold was currently in attendance at Mary Margaret's party. _Maybe someone's trying to break in again. Though, I've never heard of a burglar who hums. _

David took the chance and made his way towards the back of Mr. Gold's house in search of the strange, lilting noise.

* * *

><p><em>Snap!<em>

Isabella jolted upright at the sound of a twig crunching underfoot nearby. The urge to hum was gone and all that was left was dread. Suddenly, she was all too aware of the inky shadows of the night and could not help but fear what may be hiding inside them.

What if someone did catch her out here? What if someone was watching her _right now? I should have stayed inside! The darkness is not really my friend now. _

Heart thudding, throat tight, Isabella made slow movements to kneel on the ground, halfway to standing. Maybe if she ran for the door…but what if she was being foolish? For all she knew, it could be a helpless animal scrounging about. Still, that doubt and fear niggled away in her mind. _What if…?_

"Mr. Gold?" Her voice was an uncertain croak, barely hanging above the light breeze that now felt icy cold on her skin. Another snap of a twig and a man appeared around the corner of the house.

Except this man was _not_ Mr. Gold; that much she could tell. All he needed to do was take another step and she was up and running for the door. _Get inside! It's safe there. Don't let him see you!_

"No, wait! I didn't mean to scare you!" For some reason, Isabella paused with her hand on the doorknob. Maybe it was the fact that he sounded sincere. "I heard humming and I wanted to see what it was about. If it's any help, it was really beautiful."

Isabella knew she should go inside. It was the smart thing to do. But this was the first person she'd come across since Mr. Gold and that girl near the Toll Bridge—Ruby. The first seemingly considerate people, anyway.

Slowly, she turned to face him and squinted her eyes to study him better under the moonlight. He was reasonably tall and she could tell he was handsome even in such poor light. He remained a good few feet away, as if trying his best not to scare her away.

"Who are you?" The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. The man edged forward, extending a hand to her.

"I'm David Nolan. And you are…?" Isabella ignored his hand, imagining him grabbing onto her and not letting go. Instead, she crossed her arms and backed up against the door. If this guy tried anything funny, she could get inside in seconds, probably.

"Isabella," she whispered and figured it best not to mention her last name. The man—_David—_nodded thoughtfully.

"Isabella," he repeated as though mulling it over with what little he could see of her face. He motioned loosely to the house. "Do you…live here?"

In that instant, Isabella grew frantic. Above all else, this man could not know the truth. The words bubbled in her throat, all fighting to come out at once.

"I…he…I just—" David held up his hands, signaling for her to calm down. Her nerves were going haywire and her hand was reaching behind her to locate the doorknob.

"It's okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you," he apologized quickly, backing up hesitantly. Isabella's hand relaxed the further he moved away. "You must be related to him. I've just never known anyone to be close to him before."

"He's a good man. He just seems a bit lonely," she found herself jumping to Mr. Gold's defense without questioning it. After all, she would not have a place to stay if it weren't for him. David burrowed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"I'm not sure many people in this town would agree with you. But everyone deserves some sort of affection, right?" From what she could tell, David had lowered his head, staring down at the ground. "Although…my love life is kind of nonexistent."

Isabella frowned and was actually starting to feel sympathetic for this stranger. His voice was soothing and polite; he didn't seem to want to threaten her at all. Maybe he was similar to Mr. Gold—maybe this man needed to confide in someone, talk to someone.

"Why is that?" David perked his head up, probably surprised that she'd be willing to listen. His shoulders sagged tiredly.

"The girl I love…something happened recently to tarnish her reputation here. Everyone turned against her and accused her of doing horrible things. The worst part is that I didn't believe in her, even though she was innocent," he explained.

"Nothing spells 'romantic' like a man accusing a woman of something she didn't do," Isabella retorted. David seemed to press a hand to his forehead.

"I know, I know. I…I messed up. Now, she won't even see me. I don't know what to do." He sounded miserable with himself, struggling internally with this problem of his. Isabella was unaware that she had taken a few steps closer to him.

"Maybe you should try apologizing to her. Tell her how you really feel about her. I've always believed that love is hope. You shouldn't give up on it so easily," she told him and meant it. David's head bobbed wildly as he nodded.

"Yes, that's it. I have to tell her I'm sorry. I have to tell her I love her before it's too late." He spun to rush out of the yard, as if planning to show up on his love's doorstep and do just that. He turned back once and she could feel his eyes on her in the darkness. "Thank you…Isabella."

David vanished around the side of the house. Her nerves were starting to ease up now that she was alone. For a long moment, she stared at the spot where David was standing, as if he would reappear.

_Good luck, _she wished she could say. And then she slipped back inside, back to where she was safe.

...

Mr. Gold opened his shop later than usual that morning. There were so many troubling thoughts racing through his mind since last night, starting with August Booth.

What if that man actually was…no, it couldn't be. It was too good to be true.

In any case, he planned to spend the day outside of his shop. He needed to figure out the mystery that was August as well as his intentions. All he could picture was that drawing…_Even mutes can draw a picture. _

Silence. The blessed, wonderful silence of his shop was what he craved, if only for a few minutes. Not surprisingly, his thoughts turned to Belle.

There was something she'd had on her mind at breakfast. He could tell by the way she would often study him, as if preparing to recite her thoughts nervously. But she never did and he didn't think it a good idea to push her. Whatever it was, she would tell him when she was ready. He had become rather skilled in waiting.

She did, however, inquire about her father. He knew she wanted to see him, which was perfectly understandable. It was also impossible. As much as it would make her happy, it was also a risk that could mean losing her again. Losing her to the Queen.

He couldn't let that happen to his Belle. Those crude scars on her arms were enough to remind him of the Queen's nature. In due time, he would make sure Regina paid for the hurt she'd caused Belle. In time…

The chime of the bell interrupted his thought process and he reluctantly turned to survey his customer. It was David Nolan. Charming, of all people. Maybe he wanted a gift to impress his dearly beloved.

Mr. Gold forced a smile as David approached the counter.

"Mr. Nolan. What can I do for you?" David paused near the counter. It was curious—he didn't seem interested in anything inside the shop. _Then, why are you here today, Charming? What is it you really want? _

"Oh, I…I know I'll probably have a lot of explaining to do, but I just wanted to ask you about that girl." The smile froze on Mr. Gold's face and his blood ran cold in his veins. David's words echoed in his ears. _That girl…that girl…_

"What girl?" He knew he was opting to play the oblivious card, hoping by some slim chance that David was talking about someone other than Belle.

Concern was etched in David's blue eyes. All Mr. Gold could think of was Belle, his secret that he'd been keeping to himself for fear of losing her. And now…

"The girl staying with you. Isabella."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I figured it was about time for another insight to FT world. Poor Belle. Don't worry, everyone! I still have plans for this story yet. Jefferson will also be back, of course. <strong>_

_**I also want to thank all of those that have read and reviewed this story so far. I appreciate all the support and good comments! They were wonderful to read. Here's to Romance and Musicals, Chandler Cullen, allthingstv242, Sorcelle Dragonmoon, the Sky Pirate Girl, JustMe279, becca, Bluecanbegreen, aslgyrl, megumisakura, and Chibi Tsuki Hikari. **_

_**Thank you all so much for reading! **_


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! Another new chappie for you, and I think you'll like this one. Hopefully. We shall see, hm? **_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

The shop was silent, a heavy silence that was almost reaching the point of being ear-shattering.

His lungs were convulsing for air as he held his breath, his mouth dry as cotton. David Nolan watched him expectantly, his carefree smile slipping away with the time.

This could not be happening. He'd just gotten Belle back; he'd tried so hard to protect her…only to have a half-brained, lovesick David screw it up. The "it could be worse" assumption failed to comfort him.

"Mr. Gold? Is everything alright?"

His hands gripped the counter for support. Heat flushed his neck and boiled through his veins. _Is everything alright? No, everything is not alright! Don't you have your own problems to worry about? _

"Everything is fine," he lied, scrambling to pick up the pieces of his serene, controlled mask. David smiled in relief. The lovesick fool. "Be—ah, Isabella happens to be my…niece. She came to visit for the week." _Belle—my niece. I can't believe I just said that. Quite the family relation. _

"That's what I figured. I hope I didn't scare her too much," David replied earnestly. Mr. Gold wished David would just leave him in peace.

But first he had to make sure David wouldn't spread the story around. All David had to do was mention Mr. Gold's "niece" to Mary Margaret, who would no doubt tell Emma Swan. Being suspicious already, Emma would be storming through his door to investigate. _Can't have that, can we? _

"Isabella is a rather shy girl. Takes to books more than she does people. I'd appreciate it if you refrain from speaking of her. For her best interest, you understand."

As expected, David was already nodding in agreement. If he was lucky, the dire situation with his true love would be enough to make him forget about stumbling across Belle.

"Yeah, of course. I don't want to bother her any more than I already have. Can you just tell her I said 'thank you' for the advice?" Mr. Gold had to suppress a laugh. _Advice? If it's advice you want, I can give you a few suggestions—free of charge! _

Instead, he cleared the tickle out of his throat and nodded.

"I'm sure I can pass along the message," he complied. David smiled gratefully and headed for the door. Mr. Gold sighed with relief when he vanished out of view.

He had dodged a bullet there. David wouldn't say anything—he was certain of it.

_Still, _he thought as he submersed himself in the silence for only a couple more minutes. _It wouldn't hurt to check on her for good measure before unraveling the good August Booth once and for all. _

_..._

Being inside and safe, Isabella began to hum again. Her spirits lifted and this time there was no one to catch her wandering about. She simply returned to finding comfort in the library with countless books to read. Her comfort zone—why did she ever leave it?

_That man didn't seem so unfriendly, though,_ she mused as she swept into the kitchen with a bounce in her step. Her throat was parched—she could use a nice glass of water. The moment it was in her hand, she downed it in one gulp.

Isabella sighed with relief and smiled. She was in such a good mood today. She didn't know why, but she felt sure something good would happen. And so she hummed and waited for it.

It was while she was rinsing out the cup in the sink that something strange invaded her mind. This wasn't the good thing; this made her dizzy and shaky.

The glass tumbled from her hand and clattered in the sink. Luckily, it didn't break. An unsteady hand flew to her forehead and she closed her eyes. _What's…happening…to me? _

Long-lost words fluttered across her mind, though she had no idea where they came from. _You are not a monster…there was a son…can't I at least know you? _

Isabella descended into darkness before she hit the floor.

* * *

><p><em>She was sitting on a table. That was the first thing she registered as her feet floated freely above the stone floor. Wait…stone? <em>

_Glancing around, she recognized the castle from her dreams. The air was fresh, unpolluted by the unhealthy smoke that clogged the skies in 2012. This castle—this land—belonged to a more natural time period, indeed. _

_It was spring. Through the window, she could hear the melodic chirping of birds and the golden sun cast its rays across the floor. She couldn't help smiling. Spring had always been her favorite time of the year. _

_Someone was sitting beside her, but she did not turn her head to him yet. Her hands were folded amidst the blue fabric of her lap; she was wearing that blue dress again. _

"_Was there a son?" _

_The question slipped from her lips smoothly. It seemed like she was picking up in the middle of a conversation. Dreams were difficult that way—always planting you in the middle of it instead of the beginning. But, no…this felt slightly different from her dreams—this felt real, as if she were thinking back to a lost memory._

_The man beside her tensed up; she could feel the light material of his clothing jerk away from her skin. She didn't expect an answer. _

"_Yes. There was a son. I lost him," he admitted. He sounded quite forlorn and broken. She yearned to comfort him, to ease his sorrow. _

_Slowly, she turned her head to face him for the first time. His eyes were trained on his hands, which lay curled in his lap like her own. His lips were pulled into a tight frown. Pain wracked his features. _

_"I'm so sorry," she whispered. His eyes met hers and they widened, as if he did not expect her to be remorseful for him. He must have been very lonely in this castle, with no one to confide in. "If I'm never going to know another person in my whole life…can't I at least know you?" _

_She inched closer to him and tilted her head towards him. Their lips were only inches apart and she longed to close that space between them. _

_Abruptly, the man stood and pulled away from her. She reached out for him, but he was no longer there. _

* * *

><p>Belle was strong—it was a simple known fact about her. Even in this realm, she was starting to exude her natural air of confidence, breathing life into everything around her.<p>

But even the strongest had their Achilles' heel. In this drab, magic-less world, it was her memories.

He hadn't noticed it when Belle first re-entered his life, maybe because it was too miraculous an event that did not allow room for any other concerns. She should be getting well now that she was free of imprisonment.

It was after he had come home from his meeting with Archie—a shaky, strange situation it was—that he had found her lying terrifyingly still on the kitchen floor.

"Belle," her name escaped his lips.

Quickly he knelt down beside her and cradled her in his arms. Her skin was cold and her breathing delicate. He swept her hair from her pale face as he urged her awake.

What was he to do? He certainly couldn't rely on the hospital. The Queen would take her away again; lock her in that horrible room with the intention of making them both suffer.

Fortunately, none of that mattered in the next second.

Belle's eyelids fluttered and suddenly those blue eyes were gazing up at him, confused though they were.

"What…happened?" Her voice was weak, but he sighed with relief to hear it. He wasn't aware he'd been holding his breath as he'd cradled her.

"You tell me, dearie." Belle slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead. A thin layer of sweat had broken out over her skin. Belle's blue eyes dazedly stared at the wall as she tried to remember…

And then the light bulb clicked on. Or at least it flickered.

"I just had a drink of water. I was rinsing the cup and then…something hit me. It was like one of my dreams, except I wasn't really dreaming this time. It was like a memory."

The memories were hurting her. They were waging war on her mind. It was why Belle was still tired even after a full night's rest—the battle inside her dreams stole her energy. It was why she truthfully looked as frail as that first night.

Her fairy tale persona was awakening, but her Storybrooke persona was not willing to leave. One of them must be shed. Both could not exist. The consequence would be madness.

"What was the memory?" The words had almost got stuck in his throat; he'd almost been afraid to ask. What if she remembered their last moments together?

But there was no anger or accusation in her eyes. Only sharp curiosity that could outwit a child.

"There was a castle…I was sitting on a table. It was spring outside. Your voice was beside me and you'd said…" Her words trailed off, but he knew where this story would lead. It was a day he remembered well.

Belle's blue eyes lifted to his face, her pink lips slightly parted.

"Do you have a son?"

A deep chasm in his heart burst open, one he thought he'd put aside centuries ago. He could almost smell the livestock again, hear his son's voice as he begged him to promise…_Bae…_

"Yes. I had a son," he whispered. It was like that day in the castle all over again and still he didn't feel ready to share that story with her. Bae's story existed only in the deepest corners of his mind.

"Had?" He was suddenly aware of how close Belle had inched towards him. Her hand rested on his arm for comfort.

It was surreal. Part of him tried to hold onto the present, with Belle sitting on the floor beside him. The other half, the more dominate half, was lost in time. _The vortex…breaking the deal…Bae…_

"I lost him," he managed to spill to her.

His knees ached from kneeling and he gradually hoisted himself off the floor. Belle stood and offered him support. _That's enough reminiscing for today. _

"If you're not feeling well, I implore you to rest. I have one more errand to take care of." Belle nodded and dropped her hands to her sides.

He noticed the color had returned to her face. That was good. Perhaps this would be the only down point of the day.

If he'd only known the disaster that was to come in the form of August W. Booth, he might have quit while he was ahead.

* * *

><p><em>It was her favorite dream again. No matter how many times she lived it, the dream never tarnished. It was easily one of the best she'd had, even if she never knew how it ended. <em>

_Walking into the castle with a basket of fresh, pale straw, seeing her dream man spinning his wheel, leaning forward to kiss him…It was always better than the last time. _

_Pulling gently away from him, his skin became smooth and lively as the transformation overtook him. She smiled and closed her eyes. This was the part where it always ended and she woke up wishing for more. _

_Except when she opened her eyes, she was still in the dream. _

_The man was towering over her and his face had returned to his previous appearance—pebbly gray-golden skin and wide, murky eyes. _

_"Who told you that?" He pointed a black nail at her. What had gone wrong? It had been perfect a moment ago. _

_All she could do was shake her head numbly, the ferocity in his voice an unpleasant turn in the dream. _

_"I…she…" She stammered, not knowing what else to say. _

_The anger in his face was abominable, his body shaking as he repeated her words. Swiftly, he spun on his heel and whipped the cover off the mirror to glare at its reflective surface. _

_"You did this! You turned her against me!" Her brow furrowed with worry. He was talking to…a mirror? Or himself? Slowly, she wandered closer. _

_"Who are you talking to?" He straightened as if just realizing she was still there. A dark glint was in his eyes and she kept her distance to avoid making him angrier. _

_"The Queen! Your friend, the Queen!" His voice was cynical, his movements guarded as he stalked towards her. A range of emotions flashed through his eyes—fury, accusation, distrust. What had she done to cause such rage besides kiss him? _

_"Don't you see? This means it's true love," she pleaded with him, but it was a futile effort. He marched across the room to her, his rage a violent wave crashing over her head. _

_"Shut up!" _

_He stopped inches from her body and fiercely grabbed her arms, pulling her in so as to unleash a growl and she could not do anything but look straight into his eyes. These eyes –these intense, mad eyes—were unfamiliar to her. _

_"Why won't you believe me?" His grip tightened and he shook her like a ragdoll, his anger reaching its height. _

_"Because no one can ever, ever love me!" She shook her head in denial as her body rocked. _That's not true,_ she thought in despair though she did not dare voice those words. _I do.

...

Isabella awoke with the slamming of the door downstairs. The dream faded from her mind, but it left a headache in its absence.

Gathering her strength, she rose from the bed, the damp facecloth falling away from her forehead. Maybe she was coming down with a cold.

The lights were all off downstairs. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the floor as she descended the stairs. A chill ran through the house and—clad only in soft yellow pajamas—she rubbed her arms for warmth.

Even the kitchen was cast in shadows, though she could start to make out the outline of a figure standing at the sink. Mr. Gold.

As she edged into the kitchen, she noticed his back was facing her, his body hunched over the sink. His hands gripped the edges of the counter, slightly shaking. Something was wrong. _Is he ill? Oh, I hope I haven't given him my cold. _

"Mr. Gold?" His muscles tensed at the sound of her voice. His head barely rose to acknowledge her in the doorway. Even from here, she could hear the hitched heaviness of his breath.

"Belle…You should go back to bed. I'm…fine," he told her. The last word was strained. Her confidence took charge and she crossed to him.

"No, you're not. Something's wrong." She encouraged him to turn around, but he denied her touch. He tilted his head away from her, his hair shielding it. He was hiding.

"I'm fine," he said a little more forcefully, even as she tried brushing his hair away from his face. He turned away from her, but not before she could glimpse what was there.

"Have you been crying?" His eyes had been tired and red, the eyelids underneath swollen. What frightened her most was the raw pain in his brown eyes, the kind she imagined only came when your heart was being torn to shreds. "What happened?"

Mr. Gold shook his head in response. She circled around him and caught his eye. Whatever had happened tonight had hurt him deeply.

"Please tell me," she urged him. For a moment, he stared vacantly down at her, as if not really seeing her there. Then something inside him seemed to crumble.

"My son. My boy isn't here. I should have listened to him…" Anxious lines creased his face. She could feel her heart breaking for him. The anguish in his face was more than any person deserved.

"It isn't your fault," she comforted him. Everyone made mistakes. Their conversation from earlier that day rang in her ears. "I shouldn't have asked about your son today—" Mr. Gold's head suddenly lifted and there was a new wave of pain in his eyes.

"Belle, no. You haven't done this. It's not because of you. With you…it doesn't matter. You can only help me."

His hand lightly traced her jaw and she was only half-aware of drawing closer to him. The intensity between them was too much to bear and she knew there was no stopping this time.

Their lips met and a familiar fire instantly spread through her veins, warming her to the core. His arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer and her arms entwined around his neck as the kiss deepened.

It was like a cruel dam had broken inside her and she could _breathe. _It felt right.

And then something else was building inside her. It filled her completely and she couldn't ignore it even as those slender fingers stroked her hair lovingly.

Something was coming. Something she'd forgotten long ago. Something…

A gasp escaped her lips as the room started to spin. Flashes of images—memories?—eclipsed the room and she laid her head against Mr. Gold's shoulder as they throbbed through her mind.

"Belle?" His hand was rubbing her back, his body supporting her.

Thousands of memories echoed in her ears, almost to the point of piercing her eardrums. Everything else was so far away, even Mr. Gold's concerned voice.

As quickly as it began, everything was still.

Slowly, she lifted her head to gaze around. Mr. Gold gently guided her face to his and he stared into her blue eyes. He seemed to be searching for something. There was a flash of recognition in his own brown orbs—he must have found what he was looking for.

"Belle?" His voice was quiet, but there was an unmistakable hint of hopefulness. Her blue eyes sparkled brilliantly and she smiled. Only one word slipped from her lips, yet it was filled with awakened realization and longing.

Only one word.

"Rumpelstiltskin."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I have three words: Dun, dun, dun! <strong>_

_**I know, cruel cliffhanger. But be assured that I will be writing furiously for this next chapter. Actually, I'm pretty sure I have half of it written already. **_

_**Ah, so many lovely reviews! I'm glad you people like this story so much—I honestly never intended it to be more than a one-shot. So, thanks are in order. **_

_**Thank you peacesista123, Guest (hell no, that's not the end!), thedoctorsgirl42 (and I love your pic, by the way), Chandler Cullen, megumisakura, writindownsouth, juju0268, Romance and Musicals, tigger64, prttykitty7728, Stonington (thanks for all the reviews!), Bluecanbegreen, Teresa Martin, and Chibi Tsuki Hikari (your review inspired a little of this chapter). **_

_**Wow, thank you all so much for reading! 'Til next time!**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: Oh, I think you guys will like this chapter—there's plenty of Rumbelle. Read on and see! Enjoy, everyone!**_

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

"Rumpelstiltskin."

The minute his name escaped her lips, every bit of solid resolve in his will crumbled into shards. Relief poured through him and it felt like a great boulder had lifted away from his chest, allowing him to breathe. This was no longer an unfortunate young girl escaped from a mental ward; this was Belle gazing into his eyes as if the meaning of life were written there. His true love.

"Belle," he whispered her name into her rich hair as he kissed her forehead, her cheek, her soft lips. Desperation tainted the sweet gestures—this was much too good to be true.

Pulling back, he studied those glorious cornflower blue eyes, double-checking for that foretelling spark of remembrance. It was still there, shining like the flame of a candle. He cradled her head close to his, his fingers brushing over her skin leisurely.

"You…remember?" His words were hesitant in coming. What if he was mistaken? What if she had somehow been referring not to his true name but that rehashed fairy tale of this world? Surely she must have read it—Belle read everything.

But Belle was still smiling pleasantly, still lounging in the comfort of his arms. Her fingers caressed his face, as if she were the one making certain _he _was real.

"I remember everything. It's like waking up from a long dream. I remember the war, the castle, the chipped cup…Most of all, I remember this." Belle gently placed her lips to his, reminiscent of the kiss she'd shared with him once upon a time.

Except this time, he returned the kiss eagerly. Never again would she doubt his feelings for her. Belle came up for air and laughed. The silvery laugh that solely belonged to Belle and not Isabella French.

"That was better than the first time," she said, laying her delicate hands on his chest. Immediately, he lifted them and kissed each palm, his mouth only inches away from the tips of her scars.

Belle's body tensed as she inevitably traced the white, garish scars with her eyes. Unfortunately, she wasn't exaggerating when she said she remembered everything. The next time her eyes met his, they were filled with remorse and pain.

"The Queen…after I left your castle, she…" He lightly placed a finger to her rosy lips.

"I know. Belle, I know," he assured her with the dark promise of vengeance hiding just below the surface. He gradually encircled her in his arms and she was resigned to resting her head on his shoulder. "She will pay for all she's done to you," he muttered in her ear as he stroked her back.

Belle felt the urge to object—how could she possibly be responsible for another's suffering?—but the memory of the Queen's cruelty was still too fresh after such a long time of being forgotten. Instead, she drew in a shaky breath and raised her head to scrutinize Rumpelstiltskin.

"This is a land without magic, isn't it? Your curse is gone. Your face…you're an ordinary man again," she breathed with fascination as her fingers roamed over his skin like a blind woman reading Braille.

Something in his brown eyes—brown, not golden and unnatural—made her pause. He wondered if she was seeing pain and sorrow etched there in its depths. Deep inside him, the presence of the Dark One stirred uneasily.

"It is an illusion, dearie. The Dark One is not gone, but asleep. While I am without magic, I can keep it at bay," he explained patiently. Belle frowned as this information sunk in. Then a confident air surrounded her.

"Be grateful, then, that we are in a world without magic. A world where your curse will not bind you and we can be together." Belle smiled happily as she once again lowered her head to his shoulder. Numbly, he stroked her hair and kissed the crown of her head.

Be grateful that they were living in a world without magic. For now.

…..

Belle was in the library, exploring a dusty copy of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ when Rumpelstiltskin rushed in with the most determined look she'd ever seen displayed on his face. Instantly, she sat upright on the couch, sensing something must be wrong. Even though her counterpart Isabella did not thrive in this world anymore, the threat of being imprisoned was still real.

"What's wrong?" The words were firm, yet he could tell she was anxious. Her posture was stiff, her nails digging into the cover of the book until the binding began to crease, her lips trembling ever so slightly like petals in the wind.

Pausing before her, he smiled weakly for her sake. It did little to ease her.

"Nothing is wrong, Belle," he assured her carefully. Belle rose to her feet and crossed to him, staring at him straight in the eye as only she could. Not even half the grown men and soldiers in the Enchanted Forest dared to do that.

"Rumpelstiltskin," came the warning tone. She did not want to be lied to when everyone in the Enchanted Forest had been living a lie for so long.

He leaned his cane against the wall and smoothed his hands along her arms.

"David Nolan told me he ran into you last night," he explained. His brown eyes scoured her face for an explanation.

"It was during the night of that party you were attending. I just wanted some fresh air in the garden. I didn't think—" Belle was becoming flustered. He put pressure on her arms, enough to tell her to simply stop.

"It's been taken care of. However, I thought I might take you someplace else. Someplace where no one will stumble across you." Belle tilted her head questioningly as Rumpelstiltskin wandered to the shelf and selected a few books for her.

"Where are you taking me?" Rumpelstiltskin balanced the pile of books on one arm as he smiled gleefully in her direction.

"The forest."

It was a simple answer and yet it filled Belle with anticipation. The forest would be perfect—she could breathe in the fresh air and read under the trees without being afraid that someone would accidentally discover her.

But she would miss people like David Nolan, who truly seemed to have a pure heart.

"David was a nice man, though. I hope you didn't give him too hard a time. He actually reminded me of that girl…" The moment the words were out, Belle wished she could suck them right back in. Ever so slowly, Rumpelstiltskin pivoted to face her, his eyes unreadable.

"What girl?" The words were sharp as glass. Belle weaved her fingers together nervously. She had to tell him—if she insisted on his honesty, she would have to reciprocate.

"The girl I met by the Toll Bridge. Ruby."

…

The cabin was isolated from the rest of Storybrooke, set in the deepest thatch of the woods in a clearing you couldn't find if you were hiking. There was only one drivable trail that led to it, though no one in Storybrooke knew it existed, let alone have reason to seek it out.

No, he was wrong.

Emma Swan knew of its existence, having followed him on Valentine's Day to catch him beating Moe French. But he wasn't worried about her yet—she might have suspected something was off, but she had no reasonable evidence to point to him. The only evidence could lie with Ruby…but he would deal with that later.

Despite that, the cabin was a wondrous hideout. You could scream and only the birds would answer you. In short, it was the safest place for Belle to be. It was also the closest she'd come to their world.

Leaves and twigs crunched under the soles of their shoes as they approached the porch. Belle's eyes were the exact shade of the sky shining through the trees. The moment she stepped inside the cabin, she turned and smiled brightly at him.

"I love it. It's beautiful and quiet….I can almost imagine being home," she whispered, stretching her arms wide. She was such an enthusiastic creature when she was happy. For the sight of her smile, he would have gladly given her anything that would make her happy.

Quietly, he closed the door behind him and headed for the fireplace. A slight chill seeped into the palms of his hands. Belle didn't seem to notice it; she was wandering and exploring every inch of her new surroundings.

"Why don't I get a fire going? Keep you warm." _Among other things, _he boldly thought as he knelt to build a fire.

By the time the sparks had turned into crackling flames, Belle had settled on the floor with her legs splayed over the ragged carpet and a book open in her lap. He rocked back on his haunches and observed her.

He loved to watch her read. It was a peaceful time when Belle's body ultimately relaxed and her mind roamed free. The way her blue eyes rolled over the lines of text, eagerly lapping them up; the way a small, serene smile would grace her pink lips; the way the roaring flames of the fire cast a golden hue over her porcelain skin and made her a truly ethereal being.

Belle laughed in her easy, carefree way that made him want to laugh along with her. The only reason he never did was because such a genuine, hearty laugh belonged somewhere in the past—he had forgotten how to laugh that way long before Bae ever succumbed to his fate.

"Some things never change," Belle commented, lifting her eyes to his tired face. Ankles aching, he stood. He shook a handkerchief from his suit jacket to wipe off the residue of the logs.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," he lied. Belle closed the book and leaned forward on her knees.

"Yes, you do. Just now…you were watching me read. Even then, I knew you enjoyed watching me as I read in the library." He stuffed the cloth back in his suit and averted his gaze.

Gifted with a sharp memory over the centuries, he could remember fairly well the days he would pretend to work with his magic just to watch her from the corner of his eye. He never realized she might have been keen enough to notice.

"How do you know I didn't just need to work in the library and you just happened to be there?" Belle looked like she wasn't buying it.

"How do you know I wasn't simply reading just so you could watch me? Or vice versa?" His brown eyes snapped to her in amazement. If he didn't know any better, he'd have claimed she was flirting with him. Taming the beast. Some things never change.

Belle blushed and dipped her head as she seemed to realize this same thing.

"Come here," she requested, motioning for him to come closer. He hesitated near the fireplace, the warmth of the flames scorching his legs. Belle shook her head solemnly. "Come," she insisted.

Slowly, he moved around her legs and took a seat on the couch. His legs barely brushed her back. Belle bent her head backwards to gaze up at him.

"Down here," she demanded, patting the carpet next to her. He glanced down at her hand, but made no inclination that he would follow her instructions.

"This leg's not what it used to be," he warned her, rubbing his thigh. Belle shrugged and meaningfully patted the same spot. She was stubborn, refusing to take 'no' for an answer. "If I'm unable to get off the floor, I'm blaming you."

Sliding his body forward, he gently lowered himself to the floor. Using the couch for support, he spread his legs in front of him. Belle inched closer until she was reclining against his chest; her beautiful head beneath his chin and his arm wrapped around her waist.

And then she opened the book in her lap.

"What are you doing?" Belle sifted through the pages until she found what she was looking for.

"Reading, of course." Her blue eyes found his and he did not understand what it meant for eyes to smile until that exact moment. "Reading is my favorite pastime. And now you're going to enjoy it with me," she declared.

With her body lying comfortably against his, Belle softly began to read to him a tale as old as time. It was music to his ears.

…

_"You forgot your promise, and I was so afflicted for having lost you that I resolved to starve myself, but since I have the happiness of seeing you once more, I die satisfied." _

_"No, dear Beast," said Beauty, "you must not die. Live to be my husband; from this moment I give you my hand, and swear to be none but yours. Alas! I thought I had only a friendship for you, but the grief I now feel convinces me that I cannot live without you." _

….

When Belle was finished, she left the book open in her lap. Tilting her head back, she met his eyes. There was a silent communication between them before his hand cupped the back of her head and his lips lowered to hers.

The second their lips touched, the fire burning in the fireplace could not compare to the one burning between them. The kiss was soft at first and then grew deeper with the passing seconds. Her fingers caressed their way to his neck where she pulled him closer to her.

Reluctantly, he broke away from her, even though the taste of her still lingered on his lips. Those blue eyes were confused through the pleasant haze of lust that ignited them.

"I'm sorry," he said, bringing her hand up to his lips. Realization dawned on her face and he knew she knew it was meant for more than just breaking off this kiss. So much more. "Belle….you have no idea how much I missed you."

Belle smiled and gently traced his face, along his jaw.

"I should be sorry. All those horrible things I said—" Immediately, he put a finger to her lips. _She _was apologizing to _him? _Deep inside, he knew it wasn't right. She was simply trying to be the brave one, yet again.

"No, Belle. Everything you said was right. You were right," he told her, begging her to understand it. Belle held his hand against her cheek and breathed deeply. And suddenly her message rang through clear as she smiled for him: _I forgive you. _

"Don't be afraid," she whispered and closed her eyes. He knew what she was waiting for and so his lips caught hers once more in a powerful kiss that sent his mind reeling. With a hand on her back, he urged her to lay flat on the floor, her rich hair spilling over the carpet. The book fell away, but neither one noticed.

Again he broke the kiss and shook his head as he gazed down at his beauty.

"Belle, the last thing I want to do is hurt you," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. Beneath him, her chest was rising and falling softly and he could almost hear the pounding of her heart. Belle brushed his hair away from his face, her touch burning his skin.

"You won't hurt me. You're a better man than you give yourself credit for. I trust you," she murmured patiently. Hesitantly, he lowered his head and kissed the hollow of her throat, her pulse fluttering against his lips. His mouth trailed to hers and he kissed her long and hard until neither of them could rightly breathe.

If he was going to do this, he wanted it to be right. He was going to be gentle, tender. He was going to show her how she deserved to be loved. The prospect of carrying it out admittedly shook him a little. It had been years since he'd done this.

Placing sweet butterfly kisses along her neck, all the way down to her shoulder, his fingers carefully caressed their way down to her hips. Without realizing it, he must have squeezed a little bit and she gasped.

Instantly, his head jerked up with alarm. Had he already hurt her like he'd sworn not to do?

He expected her to cry out, to shove him away, to see disgust displayed on her lovely features. Instead, Belle's head shifted on the floor until her blue eyes were gazing up at him longingly. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

"Do that again. Please," she asked and he breathed with relief.

Every touch of his was light on her skin and soon he became familiar with applying the right amount of pressure to make Belle swoon with pleasure. He never felt so close, so intimate with anyone the way he felt with her then.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear right before the moment where she would truly become his. The sign of affection was unexpected, yet it eased him greatly. Inevitably, he found himself falling into her eyes.

"I love you, too…Belle." Their lips met in a never-ending passionate kiss and she willingly succumbed to the comfort of his embrace as he finally made love to his precious beauty.

…..

_**That small excerpt is from a version of Beauty and the Beast. I felt it was rather appropriate in their case. **_

_**I hope I did that last scene right—that one took me the longest to write out. But I hope you guys liked it anyway. **_

_**As usual, I am so grateful to those who left such kind reviews for me! So, here's to Bluecanbegreen, Rosakara, Sere Bing, Slytherclaw5298, DragonRose4, SqueakyDolphin6, The Sky Pirate Girl, thedoctorsgirl42, XVampWitchCatX, lilylulurose, Stonington, prttykitty7728, and writindownsouth. Thank you all! **_


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: Hello, readers! I have a somewhat long chapter waiting here for you—I hope you all enjoy it as much as every other chapter. And our good Sheriff is back. Might be a surprise waiting at the end….but you'll have to read on and see!**_

Belle readjusted the blanket around her body. The fire had long ago burned out, the tiny embers dancing above the ashes. Breathing softly, she laid her head on Rumpelstiltskin's chest. She could hear the steady drum of his heart and allowed her eyes to drift closed and her mind to be absorbed in its rhythm.

The cabin was quickly becoming chillier by the second—she shivered despite the heat emanating from the body beneath her. Instantly, Rumpelstiltskin took it upon himself to tuck the blanket over her bare shoulders and then resolved to hold her close. She smiled; he truly wasn't as hideous as he thought he was.

"My father would think you defiled me," Belle said out of the blue. It had been quite a while since she thought about her father, but she knew the term 'beast' would still be in his vocabulary. Always she thought about what he may have said or done had she succeeded in returning to her homeland.

"I imagine he would," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "Sex before marriage is not that uncommon at all in this world. He's not a fan of the notion, noble man that he is."

She translated the words he never said aloud—that her father in the Enchanted Forest would recognize Rumpelstiltskin as a monster who took advantage of an innocent maiden. Nothing more than a beast.

Belle noticed that his tone had been lackluster—did he, too, think he defiled her innocence?

"You obviously don't agree," she pointed out, glancing up at him. Remorse flashed through his eyes. He _was_ feeling guilty. "And I'm glad. Tonight was perfect." The remorse vanished and was quickly replaced with relief. Craning his head forward, he placed a kiss on her head.

It was quiet—she could hear the melodious chirping of crickets outside. There was no wind rattling the windowpanes, there were no animals howling in the woods. Belle liked the silence and natural sounds of the night around them.

"Is there a chance for this curse to be broken?" The question had been haunting her all day since her memory had returned.

What if the curse broke? Would they return to their world or stay in this land without magic? And then there was Rumpelstiltskin. Would he pursue his magic—making the same mistake—or would she be enough this time?

"Time will tell, my love," Rumpelstiltskin answered softly, his fingers combing through her hair. Belle met his eyes and grinned.

"Say that again." Rumpelstiltskin did not pretend to misunderstand. Cradling her close, his lips hovered above her ear. His breath warmed her skin, making her giggle a little.

"My love." Belle felt a warm feeling spinning through her stomach and up her back. Somehow, she didn't think she'd tire of hearing those words pass from his lips. It was music to her ears; it gave her hope that they could simply be.

"If this curse breaks, would we return to the Enchanted Forest?" Belle could feel the sudden tension in his body. He didn't want to talk about this. But she knew he would, for her.

"This curse has many layers, Belle. It depends on our savior," he explained patiently. Belle's brow furrowed. It was the first time she'd heard of any mythical savior.

"Savior?" He nodded once.

"Miss Emma Swan. The daughter of Snow White. She's been changing things recently. I'm sure you'll be meeting her soon enough," he said, though he sounded unhappy about it. Wasn't the savior supposed to be good? Why, then, did he sound so…worried?

Part of her wanted the savior to break the curse, to return to these people the happy endings they deserved. Another part of her wanted to remain here with Rumpelstiltskin in this land without magic. It was best for him.

"Why did you create this curse?" Belle knew it must have taken a great amount of time, patience, and power to create such a dark curse. The type of patience, time, and power the Queen did not have in her possession. Still, he wasn't surprised that she had figured out it was him.

"Quite the curious one tonight, aren't we? For the next question, my favorite color happens to be—"

"Gold?" Belle guessed. It was a reasonable guess; it was the color of the glistening creation that spooled out from his spinning, from pale yellow straw to fine, gleaming gold. To her surprise, he shook his head negatively.

"Wrong. It's brown," he corrected with one of his infamous, impish smirks. Belle felt the confusion and wonder dominate her features. It was simply another thing she had never known about her true love. All she knew of him came from the months spent in his castle.

"Brown? I have never met a person with the favorite color of brown," she shot back, rising up on her elbow as she became ultimately heated for a debate. Her eyes shined with that thirst for knowledge he so loved to observe. "Why is it your favorite color, then?"

Rumpelstiltskin gazed up at the ceiling of the cabin, deeply considering his choice of words. Belle waited with anticipation, the cold forgotten. Then he shrugged lightly.

"It happens to be the color of fresh overturned earth in the summer, still moist and cool to the touch despite the simmering heat. It's the color of hot chocolate in the wintertime. It's the color…of my boy's eyes," he murmured, not without a twinge of sorrow.

Belle felt a similar tugging of her heart. And suddenly, she knew the answer to her own question.

She knew he must have had a good reason to strive so hard to create this curse. One of the most precious, important things to him was his son. She knew he had never gotten over the loss of his boy. _He's desperate and searching for him. He's doing what he thinks is best to find him again,_ she realized.

Sympathetically, Belle curled up beside him and rested her lips over his heart, as if she held the power to heal it. As if she could make it whole again.

…..

"Two hot cocoas with extra cinnamon," Ruby's chipper voice brought Emma out of the cloudy haze that was occupying her mind. Her green eyes drew away from the window and the various Storybrooke citizens going about their habitual lives beyond it.

Ruby's overly red lips, caked with too much lipstick, stretched in a smile as she set the two steaming mugs on the table: one for Emma and one for Henry, who sat across from her with his fairy tale book propped open.

"Anything else?" Ruby's wide eyes switched from Emma to Henry—as one of the only waitresses in the diner, she lavished over the fact that Henry had an infamous sweet tooth.

"Well—" The kid perked up over the top of his book, but Emma thrust his menu at Ruby. Henry would probably order everything on the dessert menu if no one stopped him. And Regina wondered where his short allowance went so quickly. All she ever gave the kid was ten dollars, enough to buy half of the desserts.

"No thanks, Ruby," she interceded. Ruby frowned, whipping her red-streaked hair over her shoulder. Tucking the menu under her arm, she strode off to serve someone else. Henry openly complained, but Emma blocked him out, laying her head in her hands.

God, she was tired.

There had been circles as dark as a raccoon's last time she checked her reflection in the mirror. She had re-traced all her information, had called up French to ask if he'd heard anything, and even searched around Jefferson's place for a clue as to his involvement. All that was left of him in that house on the hill were his hats.

Where the hell was this girl?

The trail was vastly growing cold. Soon, she'd have to resort to flashing Isabella's picture to everyone on the streets, chirping _'Have you seen this girl?_' She might as well put up colorful posters, like Isabella was some kind of lost puppy.

"Did you find her yet?" Henry must have been a mind reader. Tiredly, Emma lifted her blonde head and took a generous sip of her drink. The chocolaty flavor warmed her throat and soothed her nerves.

"Not yet, kid. I'm running out of options. French doesn't know anything—not like he'd turn in his own daughter, anyway. Jefferson's gone to God knows where and I have nothing to tie Gold to her at all. Hate to admit it, but I think she's gone," Emma miserably muttered, her shoulders sinking.

Her gaze wandered to the window again. Was Isabella French still camping out in Storybrooke somewhere? Or was she miles away, borrowing an identity with no one the wiser?

She didn't know. And that frustrated the hell out of her.

"She's gone," Emma repeated, rubbing her fingers around the mug until her skin was practically scalded from the heat. Henry frowned with disappointment as he realized she was all but giving up.

"Who's gone?" Ruby paused near their table, a pinched frown on her lips left over from talking to Dr. Whale. That girl had amazing hearing. A streak of curiosity danced in her eyes as she sniffed out good gossip. Ruby was notorious for good gossip.

But gossips were also the ones most in-the-know, weren't they? They were keen on listening, picking up all sorts of good snippets of conversation floating around. And Ruby was a waitress who came in contact with almost everyone in Storybrooke.

If Emma had been in a cartoon, this would be the moment where a light bulb clicked on over her head.

"Hey, Ruby….have you ever seen this girl?" Emma pulled out the dog-eared photo of Isabella French. Henry watched the exchange intently, sipping his hot cocoa. Ruby accepted the photo and stared at it for a long moment while Emma folded her hands together in anticipation.

"She's Mr. French's daughter," Emma offered, as if that would jog Ruby's memory a little bit. Ruby glanced up in surprise, eyebrows raised.

"I didn't know the florist had a daughter," Ruby commented. Emma noticed Henry mouthing 'false memories' to her from across the table.

Ruby continued to stare long and hard at the photo in her hand. Recognition flashed in her sultry eyes, but her lips flattened until they were nearly invisible. Abruptly, she handed back the photo.

"I've never seen her before. Sorry." Ruby spun on her heel, but Emma wasn't fooled that easily. Instead, she removed her handcuffs from her jacket and placed them on the table with a metal _clink. _

"Ruby, if you're lying to me about something I need to know, then you know what will happen." Ruby halted in her steps. Emma knew the last thing Ruby wanted was to be brought down to Leroy's level, being dragged down to the station.

Cursing under her breath, Ruby hurried back to their table, her face the color of her too-short shorts.

"Okay, yes. I saw that girl earlier this week," she admitted, leaning forward so no one else could hear. Emma's heart raced in her chest._ Give me something good to work with. Come on…._

"Where?" Henry blurted out the million-dollar question before Emma could. Still, she glanced up at the waitress hopefully. Ruby frowned and checked over her shoulder, as if she was afraid a ghost would pop up. _Either that or whoever paid her off to lie. _

"Near the Toll Bridge," she answered almost instantly. Emma and Henry exchanged odd looks. Ruby shrugged. "What? Sometimes after I've finished working, I like to take a run." _Wow…and here I always thought Ruby usually stayed out late in the company of questionable guys. I wonder if Granny is aware of her jogging habits—she might cut her some slack. _

Henry flipped a couple of pages in his book and settled on none other than _Little Red Riding Hood._

"Isn't the moon really pretty? Doesn't it make you want to…howl?" Emma swiftly kicked Henry under the table. "Ow! What was that for?" Emma ignored him.

"And?" Emma prodded her, staring the waitress down seriously. Ruby's grin had returned as her body relaxed.

"And I usually do a couple of miles in the woods. You know, to stretch my legs. I love to run. And the kid's right. I love to stare at the moon. It's so beautiful—" Ruby was nearly gushing. Emma waved a hand impatiently.

"I meant, what about the girl? Did she say anything to you?" Ruby thought back for a moment and her behavior shifted back to a more serious one. Her brow furrowed and she scrunched up her nose.

"To tell you the truth, it was pretty strange. The only thing she said was that her name was Belle…oh, and she was asking for directions." Ruby smiled proudly at the workings of her memory. Henry had his nose in his book, sifting through the pages marked with colorful illustrations. He was searching for something, Emma knew.

"Directions to where, exactly?" Emma felt a knot in her stomach an instant before Ruby's expression turned dark. _Please don't say she asked for directions to the border that leads out of Storybrooke. Please don't say Boston. _Ruby bit her lip nervously, probably having second thoughts about answering. "Ruby," Emma warned, tapping the handcuffs.

"You see, that's the strange part. She asked for directions to—can you believe it?—Mr. Gold's pawnshop."

Emma stared hard at Ruby. Then, she came to life and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table. She slid out, stuffed her handcuffs in her jacket, and rushed past Ruby, not even slowing for the kid. In just a few strides, she was bursting through the diner door and spinning on her heel in the direction of the pawnshop.

This was it—this could be what she needed to find Isabella French. She had been suspicious of Gold, had sensed there was something he wasn't telling her. What if he was hiding her away? _I knew it. I knew something wasn't right._

"Wait up," Henry called out, running to catch up with her long gait. Henry dashed in front of her and she nearly stumbled over him. "I know who she is!" Emma shook her head, still trying to regain her composure.

"What?" Then her eyes dropped to the leather-bound book clutched in Henry's hands. He held it up for her to see, his smile so golden it could rival the sun. If there were any sun on this dreary, foggy day in Storybrooke.

"I know who she is! She's Belle…from _Beauty and the Beast!"_ Emma dodged around him and continued walking. He ran by her side.

"Kid, I don't have time for this. Besides, if she's Belle, then who's the Beast? There has to be one, right?" Emma surveyed the bright spark in Henry's eyes and suddenly realized just who the kid had in mind. "Oh, no," she groaned, slowing her steps. Henry smiled.

"Yep. It explains why she was so desperate to reach Mr. Gold's shop and why the Queen locked her up for so long. Mr. Gold is Belle's true love, the Beast!" Emma groaned.

"Henry, I have to think rationally about this. And I'm doing it alone," she warned him, halting to cross her arms defiantly. Henry hugged the book to his chest and his face grew red. She hated making him upset with her, but she needed to deal with Gold alone.

"But—" Henry opened his mouth to complain, but Emma held up her hand.

"Henry, trust me. This is something I need to take care of by myself." Henry's shoulders slouched with disappointment and she knelt down to his level. Emma tried to smile. "Tell you what. Why don't you go to Mary Margaret's while I handle this? I shouldn't be more than an hour. Maybe ten minutes, depending on how it goes."

At the mention of his favorite teacher, Henry bounced up, his smile restored. Emma ruffled his hair motherly. She liked it so much better when Henry was happy.

"Oh, yeah! Mary Margaret told me she could bake me some cookies next time I visited! Hurry up and I'll save you some," he told her and dashed off, his mouth practically salivating for delicious chocolate chip cookies.

Emma shook her head and sighed. _Let's get this over with. Time to slay the Beast._

….

The beast was waiting in its den, though it hardly bared its fangs. Honestly, it was like he wasn't even surprised to have her show up. Almost like he'd been expecting her.

"Miss Swan. What can I do for you? Do you, perhaps, have a search warrant this time?" His tone was mockingly pleasant, in control. She hated it.

"You lied to me," Emma burst out, rocketing straight up to the counter. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries today. She didn't have the time for it, either. Gold barely flinched as she leaned forward toward him, her face contorted in anger. He simply smiled in his incentive "I know something you don't" way.

"You've caught me, Emma. It wasn't tea I was brewing that day. It was coffee," he quipped, earning a scowl from Storybrooke's savior. Emma slapped her hands down on the counter in frustration. Why couldn't he cooperate for once? Why did he always have to be the one holding the aces?

"Enough of the sarcasm, Gold. Ruby just told me Isabella French asked for directions to your shop earlier this week. I'm betting it was around the night she escaped from the hospital. You paid Ruby off, didn't you?"

Gold fought to appear calm, but Emma was observant. His fingers clenched in irritation on the top of his cane. Worried lines appeared around his eyes and it seemed he couldn't quite meet her gaze. She'd gotten to him.

"I simply…bargained with Ruby. I agreed to lower the rent by fifty dollars. It seems I'll have to double their rent now," he muttered under his breath. He half-turned away, but Emma circled the counter to keep him in full focus.

"Leave them out of this. Isabella came to your shop, didn't she? You're hiding her away," she rushed forward, thundering him with accusations she knew she couldn't truly prove. All she needed was to catch a glimpse of acknowledgement in his icy brown eyes—just that would be enough for her.

Instead, Gold maintained his mask of serenity better this time, clasping his hands atop his cane. His smirk bothered her, made her want to lash out at him and slap it off. God, she was _so close…_

"Suppose, for argument's sake, Isabella French did not make it to my shop. It was quite late that night. Suppose I turned her away at the door—it'd be past the time I was locking up, wouldn't it? What evidence do you have to prove otherwise, Sheriff?" He was mocking her. She knew he knew—he was simply hiding behind technicalities.

Emma curled her fists and closed in on him until her face was inches away from his.

"Where is she?" Her voice was low and dangerous; she almost didn't recognize it as her own.

Gold breathed softly as he gazed hard at her. Minutes must have passed during their standstill and every second was crucial. Miraculously, Gold sighed in defeat.

"Very well, Miss Swan. You want to be taken to Isabella French so badly," he obliged, pushing a finger against her chest to urge her backwards.

Emma let him pass and she followed him to the door, all the while suspicious that it might be another deception. But if there was a chance of finding Isabella French, she'd gladly take it and face the consequences later.

"Just so you know, we'll need a car," Gold alerted her as he held the door open for her. She gave him a look of clear distrust as she passed by—she wasn't about to fall for any of his false etiquettes. He may act like a gentleman, but she realized what she was dealing with.

"Fine. We'll take my car," Emma stated coolly. Of course, they'd have to make the trip to the station where she last left it, but she was yearning for some thread of control in this situation. The tapping of Gold's cane followed close behind her, matching the rapid beat of her heart.

"I expected nothing less…_Emma."_

…..

The drive was nothing short of awkward.

Emma tightened her fingers around the wheel as she repeatedly glanced at Gold. His demeanor was awfully calm for someone who just professed harboring a fugitive. It was obstruction of justice, at least; especially for the times he lied to her about Isabella French's whereabouts.

"So, how do you know Isabella French? Both her father and Archie swore you two never crossed paths. On top of that, she always had her nose in a book," Emma pointed out as her car delved deeper into the woods surrounding Storybrooke. The descending sun was hidden and a sense of isolation smothered her. Where the hell was Gold taking her? "Doesn't sound like your type of girl, I'll tell you that."

A dry laugh came from Gold's side of the car. It raked across her nerves, unsettling her much more than the suffocating woods.

"It's complicated," Gold replied quietly, brown eyes focused through the windshield. Emma scoffed at that one. _With you, Gold, everything is complicated. _

"Try me," she challenged. "It couldn't hurt your chances." Gold's cold eyes swiveled to her, scrutinizing every inch of her body. She squirmed in her seat under his powerful gaze. She hated it when he did that—it made her feel like the man could peer straight into her soul.

"Isabella was attacked by a drunken man the night I found her. He'd tried to…hurt her," he explained carefully. His voice was hard and dangerous, not unlike the tone she'd used in his shop. Emma's eyes widened at him as the picture's pieces fell into place.

"That man I found in the alley outside your shop. He was drunk and complaining about a headache. Now I know why," she mused. Her eyes inevitably traveled to the cane resting between Gold's legs and suddenly she knew exactly where Gold was leading her.

The cabin in the woods.

"She had no place to stay, so I offered her hospitality," he continued. The way he told it, he was practically Isabella French's knight in shining armor. Not a comforting thought. "Between you and me, I believe I should get points for saving her from a cruel fate." Gold grinned lazily at her.

Emma glanced at him again. She had to admit it was slightly true. Of all the things Gold was, a rapist was not one of them. Monster? Maybe. Dangerous? Yes. A liar and shady dealmaker? No doubt about it. A serial rapist? Absolutely not. Even Emma knew he had more respect for women than that. So what about Isabella?

"Doesn't sound complicated to me. Still doesn't explain why you lied about her." Gold grew visibly tense in his seat and Emma smirked. _Uncomfortable, Gold? That's more like it. _

"Isabella does not belong in that hospital, Miss Swan. Her mind is beautiful—there's nothing wrong with it. Regina locked her away deliberately for her own selfish purposes. Surely, you must know that."

Was it so hard to believe that Regina might have intentionally ruined this girl's life? No, definitely not. But it weighed too heavily on her shoulders to think of it now. Her attention was too focused on Gold.

She couldn't help but notice the adoring lilt to Gold's words. It was almost…loving. There was something else going on between Gold and Isabella; she was sure of that. Stomach twisting in knots, she prayed it just wasn't _that kind_ of involvement.

Emma bit the inside of her cheek and chose not to answer him. Perhaps Archie and Gold were right, but there was always the matter of doing her job as Sheriff. Regina would easily hold that against her.

If she didn't do her job, Regina would seize that power over her head like a knife and she would no longer have the means of protecting the people she cared about from Madame Mayor's rage. People like Henry and Mary Margaret.

The cabin came into view through the split path of trees and she straightened in her seat. _Time to get this over with. _The two of them got out of the car and Emma didn't wait for Gold to start charging for the cabin door. Her boots clomped heavily on the porch as she reached the door and stormed in.

Almost immediately, she halted in her tracks. There, curled in a ball and sleeping on the couch, was Isabella French.

Emma stared at her as if mesmerized. Isabella looked a little better than the photo after her incarceration, but her skin was still pale enough to rival the soft glow of moonlight. Her hair was a rich auburn, spilling out over the pillow in spirals. A book rested on the table next to her and she was reminded of Henry's theory that she was Belle. _She certainly fits the description. _

Gold's light footsteps stopped a foot or so behind her. From the corner of her eye, she could see his arm extend to gesture to Isabella's sleeping form. And…was that a sigh of relief she heard from him?

"Miss Swan, meet Isabella French," he announced. He was waiting for her reaction. Emma's lips tightened and she shook her head. Isabella French was in good condition, but her mind was already made up. After that, there was no changing it.

"I'm sorry, Gold. You know I need to do my job," she whispered, taking a step forward toward the couch. She already had her handcuffs out, just in case. That one step was all she took.

"I suppose I should be equally regretful, Emma. You must realize…I can't let you do that."

Before she could turn her head, something solid connected with it. Her head knocked to one side, her body collapsing to the floor. The handcuffs had clattered somewhere on the floor, out of reach. Everything was a blur—her head was throbbing. Was she bleeding?

All she could see now was the hazy outline of Gold standing over her, his cane starting to lower to his side. As her head lolled to the left, a figure was lifting up from the couch. _Isabella. _

And then everything in Emma's world went black.

…..

_**Dun, dun, dun! I know, I know—cruel cliffhanger. How dare I? The good news is I am ferociously writing for this story lately so an update shouldn't be too far ahead in the future. **_

_**And (the way I'm planning it) Jefferson shall return in the next chapter! I simply love Jefferson. Hats off to him, right? (-; **_

_**As always, the reviews were absolutely amazing to read. Thank you all for telling me I did good on the Belle/Rumpel fluff scene in the last chapter—that was the one I had most trouble writing. Here's to peacesista123, megumisakura, foxfireOUAT (I agree—I wanted to make it delicate and beautiful for these two; thanks for all the reviews!), Slytherclaw5298, Grace5231973, rene10, tigger64, The Sky Pirate Girl, thedoctorsgirl42, Rosakara, and prttykitty7728. Hats off to you as well. **_

_**By the way, does anyone know what Robert Carlyle's favorite color really is? Just curious. Though I do know he doesn't like those questions during his live Twitter sessions. Pity. **_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: Hello, all you lovely readers out there! So, this chapter is more or less devoted to Jefferson and Belle. Don't worry—Emma will come back to us in the next chapter which I am already planning out for you. So enjoy this chapter for now. (-; **_

The sun was going down. Streaks of orange, red, and purple stained the clouds through the foliage of trees, casting a mellow glow on the cabin.

There was about a half hour of daylight left and Belle intended to savor it. Besides, she felt a twinge of guilt whenever her eyes strayed to the unconscious Emma Swan, who was now restrained by her own handcuffs and silenced by a shiny strip of duct tape.

The only thing Rumpelstiltskin cared to do was survey his handiwork. Circling Emma like a hungry vulture, checking to make sure her bonds were tight, smiling with satisfaction like an artist admiring his masterpiece. That dark glint in his eye reminded her of the opaque, emotionless haze in his eyes during their last moments at his castle. She didn't like it.

"The sun's still out. I think I'm going to read for a bit," Belle spoke up, drifting from the window to collect her book. She hoped the shakiness of her voice wasn't too obvious.

"Be careful, dearie. I don't much like the idea of having you run around the forest after dark," he admitted, his brown eyes straying to the window where she had just been standing. Belle slipped on a pull-over sweater to ward off the chilly air. The fabric was overwhelming—how she longed for her lovely green cloak.

"You think someone else will be out there looking for me?" Rumpelstiltskin's cane echoed with its brisk _tap, tap, tap. _The use of it made him seem so unnaturally…human.

"I was referring to the wolves," he remarked with a tight-lipped smile. "Plus, if you happen to go missing, it's not like I can call the police." He blindly waved his hand in Emma's direction.

Belle briefly wondered what he would do with her once she regained consciousness. Interrogate her? Reason with her? Or…could he possibly mean to…_kill her? _No, that was ridiculous. She was the savior, wasn't she? Whatever he planned for Emma, Belle just hoped he would maintain some sort of control over his behavior.

"I'll be careful," she assured him wholeheartedly. Briskly, she pulled the cabin door open and bounded down the stairs of the porch. There was a trail leading up to the cabin, with Emma's car parked not far away. She wouldn't go that far—just enough to find a nice, shady tree to read under.

The cabin was out of sight before Belle found the right tree, its shadow extending over the trail. Settling down against the sturdy trunk, she opened her book on her lap and quickly lost herself in her reading. Minutes passed, but time was irrelevant to her now.

She didn't even hear anyone approaching until a twig sharply snapped underfoot. Immediately, the alarms in her head sounded and the book tumbled from her lap. Gasping, Belle jumped up and whirled, only to meet a familiar pair of mysterious dark eyes.

Jefferson.

"Some things never change," he commented as he bent at the waist to retrieve her book. Heart pounding like a frightened rabbit's, Belle fought to slow her hitched breath. Relief poured through her and a genuine smile rose to her lips.

"You startled me," she accused him, taking back her book which was now marred by dirt. "But it is nice to see you again. I thought you were going home." Jefferson habitually adjusted the scarf around his neck—a black one threaded with silver stitching that caught the sunlight. A gleam of disappointment shined in his eyes.

"That was the plan. Grace was left behind in this world. I've been watching over her. And you are lurking in the woods. My first guess would have been the library, but no one goes in there," he pointed out matter-of-factly. Jefferson was always one to value observation.

Belle laughed softly and gestured for him to walk with her along the trail. The sun had all but vanished and it was past time she returned to the cabin before Rumpelstiltskin started a one-man search party.

What would Rumpelstiltskin say about Jefferson's sudden appearance?

"It's good to see you've managed to remember without going mad," he said wistfully. Belle started to nod and then paused. Oh, yes—Jefferson was definitely the observant one.

"How did you know I remembered?" Her lips parted in wonder as she gazed up at Jefferson inquiringly. Lithely lifting a hand, he pointed to her eyes. His fingers tickled the skin of her cheek and a jolt ran through her body.

"The eyes are the windows to the soul, Belle. There's a certain…spark in the eyes of those that can remember. Regina, Mr. Gold, and now you. Everyone else has dull, hazy eyes that simply lack knowledge. Easy to recognize, actually." He shrugged. Belle brushed a hand across her cheek where his hand had grazed it.

They began walking quietly together again, the shadows of the night creeping around them. Belle was suddenly grateful for Jefferson's friendly presence. Though, she was truthfully grateful for so much more than that.

"Thank you," she whispered with the wind. Jefferson cocked his head at her and she could just see the ridge of his scar under the silk sheath of cloth around his neck. Where some might find it gruesome and disturbing, Belle only felt pity and remorse for Jefferson.

Jefferson, who was now smirking down at her.

"For what? Walking you home? My pleasure," he smugly made a little bow and she playfully tapped his arm.

"Thank you for everything. Thank you for helping me in that hospital," she sincerely appraised. She could have sworn Jefferson turned a little pink. It was cute, she deigned.

"Consider it a favor repaid for Grace." Her mouth opened and Jefferson must have guessed that she was about to ask how he knew about her rendezvous with Grace. "Wonderland was always one for looking glasses. It's where I got that mirror in the first place."

Belle's memories—so untouchable before—floated to the surface of her mind. Memories of Grace—Jefferson's beloved daughter and the last person she saw before the Enchanted Forest ceased to exist.

…

_The first time Belle saw her was when she was trying hard not to cry. Trying being the operative word—it was such a daunting task being strong all the time in this forsaken place. _

_Lying amongst the itchy, raw hay, biting her lip fiercely to quell the sob stuck in her throat. Cornflower blue eyes turned a puffy, sore red and her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and despair. Her heart hammered like a bird being suffocated in a cage, its wings beating wildly with no room to flutter. _

_Soft footsteps sounded on the dungeon steps—an echoing tapping—but Belle's mind was too cloudy with aching sadness to give it any notice. The only one who ever visited her was the Queen, or perhaps one of her guards that routinely checked to see if she was even alive. _

_"Why are you crying?" A tiny voice cut through the gloomy, dark dungeon. Tiny, yet unfaltering with confidence. It was completely unfamiliar. _

_Startled, Belle shot upright and looked to the barricade separating her from freedom and the rest of the castle. There, unbelievably, stood a little girl in a fine red cloak that would only befit one of royal descent. Light brown hair framed her gentle face and wide brown eyes studied her with childish curiosity. _

_Belle breathed deeply and wiped her eyes free of tears with the back of her hand. _

"_I have a broken heart," she answered simply, still mesmerized by the young girl's presence. With any luck, the girl would not know the ache of a broken heart for a few more years, if ever. Was she the Queen's daughter? Belle hadn't been aware if the Queen had one. _

"_I'm sorry," the girl said, her hair cascading down as she dipped her head remorsefully. She lurched forward suddenly, eyes wide as tea saucers. "Is that…my father's mirror?" _

_Belle followed her gaze to the silver enchanted mirror nestled on top of the hay. Just moments before, she'd used it to witness the grueling, heart-wrenching encounter between Rumpelstiltskin and the Queen. But, if this mirror belonged to her father…Belle glanced up at the young girl with an enlightened perspective. _

"_Jefferson is your father?" Longing flashed across the girl's face. The worry in her eyes made her appear far older than her years. "What are you doing in the Queen's castle? You should be with him. Or is he here?" The girl shook her head slowly, the hood of her cloak falling away onto her small shoulders. _

"_We were supposed to have a tea party, but he never came back. My daddy never breaks his promises!" The girl had reverted to a more insecure reference to her father, like a young child in need. Her face contorted with sadness and Belle realized she was too was struggling not to cry out. "The Queen came to our house and brought me here. I tried to hide but she found me. She said I'd want for nothing…but all I want is my daddy!" The girl crumpled to the floor, her body shaking with sobs and her knees tucked up to her chest. _

_Belle crawled across the dirty cell floor and reached a hand through the bars to place it on the girl's arm. The girl's head shot up in alarm. _

"_It will be alright. Perhaps your father will find a way to come back to you," she comforted the small, sniffling girl. Hope was weak in those brown eyes. That alone should have been a crime for the Queen._

"_I don't think so. My mother was lost because of my daddy's work. Now, he's lost, too," she murmured, lip trembling. "And the Queen, she's…she's…"_

"_Cold?" Heartless also came to Belle's mind, as did cruel and dangerous. The girl nodded silently. _

_This girl had no one left, no one to truly care and love her properly. All she had was the Queen and Belle knew from experience that 'love' and 'kindness' did not rank high on her list of values. It was terrible. _

"_You're not alone. The Queen locked me up to make my true love suffer. When I tried to escape, I met your father here. He gave me the mirror to guide me, as a window to the outside world. The Queen caught me and she…see for yourself." _

_Belle rotated her arm and her ragged pink scars shined in the glow of the torches. The girl gasped and extended a hesitant hand to touch them. Belle fought hard not to wince in pain from even a timid touch. _

"_I don't want to live here with the Queen. I want to be home with my father, having our tea party," she whispered. Belle's brow furrowed as she maneuvered enough to rub the girl's back. A tremor ran up the girl's spine as her body relaxed from the sobs._

_It seemed they were both in the same boat, rocking stiffly on a still, vast ocean and searching for their loved ones who were brutally ripped away from them by the Queen. _

"_You're Grace, aren't you?" Belle had suddenly recalled the name of Jefferson's daughter. It was still a beautiful name. The girl gazed at her in surprise. Sweeping the clinging strands of hair from her cheeks, she attempted a smile. This little girl—with such delicate features and graciousness—could have easily been a princess. _

"_Yes. My name is Grace." Belle held out her hand and Grace tentatively shook it. _

"_It's nice to meet you, Grace. Though, I truly wish it were under better circumstances."_

…

Belle led Jefferson up the creaking porch stairs and inside to the warm security of the cabin. Another fire was blazing in the fireplace, toasting up the cabin so much that Belle instantly removed her sweater and hung it near the door. The thick ashy smell of burning logs comforted her.

Rumpelstiltskin had his back turned with Emma being blocked from their view. Belle knew he was looking down on her, though, as if not wanting to miss the exact moment her eyelids fluttered. He seemed to be quite interested in this savior—not in the romantic sense, but as a challenge. Emma Swan was the new, shiny toy that he was playing with and would soon break into millions of pieces at his hands.

"Oh, good. You're back. I was just about to risk my leg to come rescue you, my love," he spouted and revolved in his spot to face her. To face them. His brown eyes locked on Jefferson and narrowed a fraction of an inch. "Jefferson. No longer chasing rabbits, I see."

His hand gripped his cane as if meaning to strike him, too. Jefferson smirked with amusement, unbothered by Rumpelstiltskin's obvious disliking.

"Relax, imp. I kept my word, didn't I?" Jefferson's hand flourished toward Belle, whose blue eyes were wide as she observed the tense scene. It didn't surprise her that Rumpelstiltskin had a hand in her escape. Rumpelstiltskin openly sneered at Jefferson.

"Barely," he muttered. Jefferson took a step forward, staring down the dealmaker. Or he tried to stare him down, but Rumpelstiltskin was not one to be intimidated easily.

"But I kept it. Everyone's happy," he emotionlessly responded. Belle's heart tugged for him; Jefferson was one of the countless hundred that the Queen made suffer. Rumpelstiltskin pointed an accusing finger at Jefferson, his gleeful grin returning.

"Except…for you, of course. Tell me, how's little…_Paige?"_ Jefferson lurched forward and Belle quickly dropped her book to grab his arm with both of hers before he could do anything irrational. True, Rumpelstiltskin did not possess magic, but he could still be dangerous when he wanted to be. Emma Swan was proof of that.

Jefferson dragged her with him, trying to wrench his arm from her. Belle only held on tighter, burying her face in his sleeve. As Jefferson clenched his teeth in fury, Rumpelstiltskin omitted a mocking laugh.

"Her name is _Grace!"_ Jefferson snarled. Belle pulled him back an inch or so.

Jefferson finally glanced down at her as if just realizing she was hanging onto him desperately. His breath came in quick gasps, but he relaxed. Running a hand through his dark hair, he at least stepped back.

"He found me in the woods. I thought he could stay with us for a little while," she suggested to Rumpelstiltskin with a twinge of hope. Immediately, his brown eyes darkened with irritation. Not once had he really looked at her since she'd come back from the woods.

"I'm afraid you thought wrong, my love. What do you think this is? A slumber party? Perhaps we should invite Regina and little Henry Mills along as well." Beside her, Jefferson actually chuckled. It threw them into abrupt silence at its low, dry sound.

"You don't trust me." It wasn't a question that slipped through Jefferson's lips, but a simple assumption. Stated as pure fact, which Rumpelstiltskin did not try to deny. Belle noticed those brown eyes swivel to her for a moment and she awkwardly released Jefferson's arm. Was Rumpelstiltskin….jealous?

"Not as far as I can throw your magic hat," Rumpelstiltskin shot back. Belle stepped in front of Jefferson before he could come up with a clever retort. Maybe if Rumpelstiltskin focused on her, then he would be more reasonable. Just as she hoped, his expression softened.

"Please," Belle insisted, her blue eyes never faltering from Rumpelstiltskin's unreadable brown ones.

For a long moment, with the crackle of flames being the only audible sound between them, he stared back at her. It reminded her of the flat look he'd had while listening to her final words at his castle. Finally, he threw his hand in the air in defeat.

"He can stay…_if _he helps," Rumpelstiltskin proposed. All the while, Belle's lips stretched in a smile of pure happiness. She managed to restrain herself before she foolishly tossed her arms around Rumpelstiltskin's neck and kissed him deeply or something of that nature. Though, she was sure he'd love to shove that in Jefferson's face.

"Help with what?" Jefferson skirted around Belle just as Rumpelstiltskin stepped aside to reveal Emma, draped unconsciously across the couch and bound. Belle watched as a spark ignited in Jefferson's dark eyes.

"Emma," her name rolled off his tongue. A slow, sensual smile slid across Jefferson's lips. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

….

_**And Jefferson is back! Dun, dun, dun! Though I'm sure Emma won't be so happy to see him. And I just heard that Jen Morrison and Sebastian Stan are dating…I knew they had chemistry in Hat Trick. Apparently, we're not mad after all. **_

_**Thank you for the awesome reviews everyone! Each and every one was amazing and much appreciated. Here come the well-deserved shout-outs!**_

_**Cris Coursey: Thank you for the review! I try to keep as true to Robert Carlyle's unbelievably delicious character as possible. Which is actually ten times harder than you think considering he nails his performance every time. (-; **_

_**DragonRose4: Haha! Took you by surprise, did I? Yay! I do so love writing my cliffhangers and I'm sure Emma will be quite irritable next chapter when she rejoins the slumber party. Thank you for reading! And glad to see you caught up, too. **_

_**leighembers: Wow, hope you didn't lose too much sleep! Though I am glad my story is that captivating, haha. Thank you for the wonderful review—it was good to read. The excitement shall continue next chapter…**_

_**rene10: Oh, darn those nasty cliffhangers of mine. *laughs evilly* I'm glad you're enjoying the story, though. **_

_**BlooperLover: First of all, been meaning to say it for a while, but I absolutely adore your pic. But then again, who doesn't appreciate Robert Carlyle's Rumpelstiltskin? (-; Yeah, I thought I'd add in that little sweet touch to the last chapter, if only to re-establish that Rumpelstiltskin is still thinking about his boy. As for Emma, you never know what Rumpel's capable of! **_

_**Bluecanbegreen: LOL, it's okay. This review definitely made up for the missed one. Yeah, I like to keep as true to the show as possible, therefore I try to incorporate many of the much-loved characters. What would Storybrooke be without our good savior? And Jefferson…well, he's just awesome. Thanks for reading!**_

_**thedoctorsgirl42: I guess it's a full moon—Emma's Charming genes must have kicked in. Don't worry, she'll be coming around next chapter. Though I'm sure Jefferson will spoil her mood even further. We shall see. **_

_**GoldenDearie: Nope, not done yet! Good news for the readers, though, huh? I was originally going to keep it a one-shot, but I most definitely changed my mind. I'm glad so many people are enjoying it. **_

_**Grace5231973: Gold will certainly try his best. He has to protect his Belle, you know. Since he failed the first time. *cough cough* **_

_**tigger64: You never know…Rumpel can be pretty manipulative. Oh, that cane of his! Sexy and dangerous at the same time. (-; Who needs a dagger sporting his name when he has that baby? **_

_**prttykitty7728: I do love cooking up some good cliffhangers from time to time. What can I say? *sigh* But I'm grateful for your enthusiasm for my story! Thanks for reading it. **_

_**Thanks everyone for the feedback! Every little bit counts! **_


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: Sorry this update took longer than I expected. I wanted to make sure I got the scene with Jefferson, Gold, and Emma right. It was tricky, but I think it worked well. Maybe you guys can tell me. **_

_**In any case, there is a whopping long chapter waiting for you. Hope you all enjoy it! **_

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

The night was always darkest just before the dawn. It seemed the dawn had finally risen.

Belle always knew when the Queen had left her castle—be it for a journey or some other important occasion—because that was when Grace chanced visiting her. It was those days she looked forward to most.

Often she'd come presenting a basket of food she had scrounged up from the kitchens, passing handfuls through the bars of the cell to Belle. Buttery warm bread, cherry tarts, a goblet of water that was blessedly cool on her dry tongue.

Even better, Grace had the kind sense to smuggle down a book for her to read from the Queen's library. They both doubted the Queen would ever notice it was gone—she didn't seem the type to come home and settle into a good book. Belle always accepted it as she would a gift and hid it under the hay so the Queen would not find it.

It was a miraculous thing, having Grace to talk to during the slow days. Mostly she would share stories of her awkward dinners with the Queen and complain about her new dress, but Belle savored every bit of it. She never realized how lonely she was in that cell until Grace showed up.

More miraculous than that was the day Belle's laughter started to come easier than it had in a while. It was so strange to her ears now, as if it belonged to someone else. The last time she had truly laughed was…with Rumpelstiltskin.

Less and less she relied on the enchanted mirror, though she did catch certain events.

Belle had witnessed the extravagant wedding of one fair Snow White and Prince Charming—that had made her smile to see such happiness in the world until the Queen crashed the party ranting about an end to happiness. She had also watched Rumpelstiltskin dance with a young girl named Ella and she had wished it were her in his arms.

Now the mirror lay forgotten under the hay.

Grace kept her informed—she told her about the outside world, the latest kingdom parties and weddings, the Queen's comings and goings. Belle recanted her story of imprisonment with Rumpelstiltskin and more than once held a little tea party with Grace.

Together, the two of them managed to find a shred of happiness in an otherwise dismal place.

"Could you ever..." Grace started only to pause and stare down into her cup of lukewarm tea. A rosy blush touched the child's face. Belle waited patiently. "Do you think you would want to…be my mother?"

Grace's brown eyes were still downcast as she quietly sipped her tea. Belle knelt frozen inside the cell, unsure whether she heard the girl right.

Beyond that was pure sympathy—this poor girl was reaching out for someone, anyone who would listen or care. It didn't surprise her that the "someone" Grace was looking for wasn't the Queen.

The question pounded in her ears, echoing endlessly. It squeezed her heart until she could not properly breathe. _Oh, the poor girl. Is there no one left to care for her? _

"I don't think I'd be much of a mother behind these bars," Belle evaded truly answering the question. Grace was clever, though. She lifted her gaze and appeared more serious than anyone Belle had met before. The Queen had, at the very least, stripped this girl of her family and childhood.

"If you weren't locked up, would you want to? If we went out there and found my father…" There was a pleading note in Grace's voice.

The girl was aching to regain the life she once knew, Belle could tell. Never had she cursed someone before, but as she observed little Grace bearing so much sorrow on her shoulders, she silently added one for the Queen. How could she do this to a child?

"Grace, I would so much like to find your father and return him to you. But I'm afraid my heart cannot belong to him. You know I was…I _am _in love with someone else," she carefully explained, trying not to hurt the girl's feelings. Jefferson had the potential to be a friend, but that was it.

Grace's face contorted with sadness and the teacup shook in her hands, causing some to rain down on the dusty ground.

"I know," she whispered. Belle realized that Grace had already expected that answer. She had just been hoping—and that was all she could do.

Setting her teacup down with a tiny _clink, _Belle reached through the bars to lay a hand over Grace's small, trembling one.

"Grace, if I truly were your mother, I'd be quite proud of you," she assured Grace, whose head rose in surprise. Belle bet the Queen was not the type of woman to ever grant a phrase such as '_I'm proud of you.' _

"Really?" Grace's lip trembled and her bright eyes widened. She looked like she was doubtful of it. Belle smiled warmly and tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind Grace's ear to keep it from falling into her face.

"Absolutely. You're so brave, smart, and compassionate. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their daughter." Grace blinked away the water in her eyes and returned Belle's smile. Belle meant every word.

Just then, the torches flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows along the walls. The flames bent sideways in their holders before extinguishing completely, shrouding them in darkness.

Grace's breathing quickened an instant before a shattering of glass. The teacup must have fallen from her hands. A tight squeeze enveloped Belle's hand. Grace was holding onto her for dear life.

"What's happening? Belle?" Grace cried out, her tiny fingernails fiercely digging into Belle's palm. Belle swallowed the moan of discomfort and squeezed back to let her know it was okay.

"I'm here, Grace. I'm not sure what happened. It's too dark in here," she answered. The darkness was so thick; she couldn't even make out Grace on the other side of the bars. Better yet, where were the actual _bars? _

Belle used her other hand to rub her eyes, though it did little to help. Her eyes just couldn't quite adjust to the supreme blackness.

There was a squeak and a scrabbling of nails on the dungeon floor. A shrill scream pierced the air and Grace's hand slipped from Belle's. Instantly, heart drumming in her throat, Belle was on her feet and gripping the cold bars.

"Grace? Where are you?" Another scream and a tapping of feet as Grace moved around in the darkness. She was moving away from Belle's cell, but Belle had a hard time placing her exact spot. "Grace?"

"Rats! There are rats and they were climbing over my legs!" Belle glanced down at the floor for anything moving, but to no avail. They needed light.

"Listen, Grace. I need you to climb the stairs and open the door to the dungeon. It will give us some light," Belle calmly told her, all the while scanning the blackness before her for any signs of a moving figure. Was Grace pressed against the wall? Huddled in a corner? Silence. "Be brave, Grace," Belle encouraged her.

Another moment passed before there was a light shuffling of feet across the floor. The feet paused near Belle's cell and there was a raw scratching. Soft steps sounded on the stairs, echoing all around Belle. _That's it, Grace. You can do this. Be brave. _

Without warning, there was the sound of a rough tumble and a groan. It sounded like an avalanche in the heavy silence of the dungeon. Belle's hands wrapped around the bars and she twisted her head in the blind direction of the stairs.

"Grace? Are you alright?" There was a hiss of pain and the soft steps were climbing again. That was good.

"Yes. I fell on the step," she said before a stream of light burst into the room. Belle blinked and then saw that Grace had grabbed the basket of food—she was using it to hold the door open. She was a clever girl, indeed.

Belle scanned the room, taking in minute details as her eyes adjusted once again to the light. Grace's knee was bleeding from where she'd landed on it. Shards of glass scattered the floor, a few pieces having leaped into Belle's cell. Whatever happened, it was over now.

"Everything will be alright," Belle sighed. As her eyes lifted to Grace's face, she realized that Grace wasn't looking at her.

Grace was stiff in place, staring wide-eyed at the dungeon door. Belle tried to crane her neck, but could not see what had startled Grace. Slowly, the child stumbled backwards down the steps, her face paling significantly.

"Belle," she whispered fearfully. And then Belle saw it.

Clouds of thick purplish smoke flowed in through the dungeon, sifting around Grace's legs and consuming everything in sight. There was only one thing that could be responsible for such an occurrence: magic.

Grace rushed over to the cell and gripped Belle's hand again, closing her eyes against the oncoming wave of thundering smoke. Belle held her close, arms circling her as best she could to comfort her.

"What is that?" Grace glanced over her shoulder at the haze that was quickly closing in on them. Belle could only watch as it towered and swirled like a vortex. The walls vanished from sight, the stairs were no longer there. It seemed to suck Belle towards it like a whirlpool, her belly flopping.

Magic. It was the only explanation. And this…this was power unlike any she'd ever seen. The Queen was the first one to come to mind. _What has she done? _

The cloud wrapped around them and it was getting harder to hold onto Grace's hand. Grace shrieked, but the sound was lost amongst the whipping of the smoke in Belle's ears. Everything was covered in purple and glowing abnormally.

Belle coughed against the onslaught of smoke and suddenly Grace's hand had jerked from hers. Belle gasped and frantically reached out to grab the girl, but she couldn't even see her anymore. Her mind became fuzzy and a cold chill seeped into her lungs.

"Grace!" It was the last word that escaped her lips before the smoke smothered her completely and she blacked out. Before she woke up in a new world-a land without magic.

* * *

><p><em>Ow…my head…<em>

Emma's eyelids fluttered, though opening them was proving impossible. They felt like two steel doors that refused to budge. Her head was spinning and her stomach was a coiled spring that wouldn't quit bouncing. Her throat was rough sandpaper at best and every muscle in her body was weak, tingling with pins and needles. A metallic taste invaded the roof of her mouth—she seriously craved Listerine.

Even with her eyes closed, she made an effort to discern her surroundings. She remembered the cabin and Isabella…and then nothing. Blackness, blackness, and more blackness. How long had she been out?

There was something smooth underneath her, rubbing against her cheek. The couch? Yes, she was lying down, her legs crossed over one another.

Emma tried to lift one of her hands to her throbbing head, but that was too great a chore. The clink of chains confused her. Her hands were uncomfortably bound by something cold and metal. Bound…by her own handcuffs.

She had really gotten herself into a ditch this time, didn't she?

Miraculously, her eyelids parted and all she could see was blurry brown. Water filled her eyes and she had to blink a couple times. Her vision cleared and she saw that the brown was the cabin's ceiling. _I'm still in the cabin. I wonder if that's good or bad, _she thought albeit sluggishly. Slow as a snail, her mind.

Gradually, Emma made a low groan in her throat and awkwardly struggled into a sitting position. Sinking her cuffed hands in her lap, she blinked sleepily against the bright light in front of her. Yellow and orange….a fire? A fire…in the fireplace.

Once she could properly see, she noticed a figure sitting in a chair near the fire, facing her. Her stomach plummeted as she instantly recognized him through the abnormal stupor. _Yep, my situation just got a hell of a lot worse. _

It was Jefferson. And he was holding a gun. No, correction: _her_ gun. And he was aiming that gun straight at her.

She wished she could have laughed and said the gun wasn't loaded, but she had loaded it before leaving the station…when? Yesterday? A day before? There wasn't even a calendar to clue her in.

"Hello, Emma," Jefferson cheerfully greeted her like she was some old friend. In his mind, they probably were. A mad smile curved his lips. Jefferson looked the same as she remembered—all he was missing was his hat.

"Moffou," Emma mumbled incoherently. Why couldn't she speak right?

She tried to open her mouth, but something sticky was preventing her from doing so. Sticky. Duct tape. She tried to lift her arms to peel it off, but her limbs were like Jell-O on her lap, flailing and bobbing. What was wrong with her?

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Jefferson pitilessly mocked her. "If you promise to behave, I'll take off the duct tape," he said, motioning the gun to her mouth. Emma narrowed her eyes threateningly. _God, if only I could actually move! If he comes near me, I have to try. _"You know what? It's no fun talking to a silent Emma."

Jefferson got to his feet and sauntered over to her. Bending close to her level, the enticing scent of him filled her nostrils. She tried to reach up, to at least grab him, but her muscles failed her.

"Now, I know you're not the screaming type. Not that it would matter out here. No one would be able to hear you and I know you're smarter than that, Emma." In one swift movement, Jefferson gripped the edge of the tape and ripped it off her mouth. Her lips stung for a moment before sweet air tunneled through her lungs.

"Ow! Would it kill you to be gentle?" Nothing but a rasp; cruel nails grinding down a chalkboard. Emma tried to touch her lips, but her arms barely rose a few inches. _Oh, God…what the hell did Jefferson do to me? Drug me? _The fogginess of her mind, the unresponsive muscles…yes, he definitely gave her something.

"Anyway, what were you saying, Emma?"

Jefferson took his seat again and stared at her expectantly. His tone was overly considerate, as though he were some kind of therapist wanting her to unleash her inner thoughts. Hah, that was a joke, wasn't it? A terrible contradiction considering he was the only mad one here.

Emma drew in a fresh gale of breath and cleared her throat to be free of the rasping.

"I said…_not you."_ Jefferson pressed a hand to his chest as though her words had pierced his heart. Emma rolled her eyes—that much, she was apparently capable of handling, even if they did feel a little sore.

"That's very rude. After all the fun we had last time," he feigned hurt. Emma's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Was he serious?

"Fun? You drugged me, tied me up, threatened me with a gun kind of like you're doing now, until my apparent mother round-house kicked you out of a two-story window. How is that fun?"

This man was insane—there was that unpredictable spark in his eyes. Wildfire consuming a black forest. Jefferson merely shrugged as if the only thing she accused him of was stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

"It seemed entertaining to me. Oh, but I'm mad, aren't I?" Jefferson pointed the gun at his head and smiled, though he lowered it a second later. Emma's head lolled and there was that throbbing again. God, she was groggy. Her body could barely move—it simply sat there like a sack of potatoes.

"Can't argue that point," she mustered up the strength to shoot back. The smile vanished and the gun slightly tilted toward her.

_He wouldn't,_ she thought, but how could she really tell with someone who was clearly unstable? Yet somehow, Emma knew it was a bluff. _Six rounds and I can barely lift my arms, never mind dodge. If he wanted to kill me, he would've done it already._

"What do you want with me? All I'm trying to do is my job. Oh, let me guess: you want me to believe your side of the story."

Jefferson's dark eyes were unimpressed by her mockery. His lips tightened into a thin line. Surprisingly, the gun swiveled to something over her shoulder. The air shifted around her as she felt eyes boring into her back like daggers.

"His favor, not mine," Jefferson coolly stated. Emma craned her neck as best she could and saw Gold stepping away from the window, an amused grin dominating his lips. _I'm trapped in a cabin with two crazy people. Three, if you count Isabella._

"Emma," he drawled, circling around the couch and stopping a mere foot from her. His cane tapped the side of her foot. "Glad to see you're awake. I thought I might have to kiss you," he quipped.

He reached a gloved hand out to stroke her blonde hair, but Emma wrenched her face away from him. A jolt of pain shot through her head and she clenched her eyes. Gold made a small _humph_ and dropped his hand.

"Do you mind?" Emma jiggled her bound wrists. The cuffs were creating red grooves in her skin.

"We all know how resourceful you can be," Gold replied, wandering to the fireplace. She'd take that as a _'no.'_ He bent forward and tossed another log into the flames. _I hope he burns his hand off. Crazy pawnbroker._

"Where's Isabella?" Emma wearily glanced around for her, but saw no sign of the girl. Did Gold move her again? Hide her somewhere safer? No, she didn't think he'd stray that far from her, especially now that she was subdued. Isabella had to be close-by.

"Belle is outside reading," Jefferson offered. It was then Emma noticed that daylight was streaming in through the windows. A thin frost coated the glass, signaling that it was still chilly outside. _I've been out all night? Or longer? How hard did Gold hit me?_ "Such an open mind…unlike you."

Emma shifted her gaze to Jefferson and sent him a biting glare.

"You helped her escape," she accused him in a low voice. She could feel two sets of eyes on her, but she didn't look away from Jefferson. It was too overwhelming, concentrating on both of them.

"What's your point?" Jefferson arched forward in his seat. Emma shook her head, though it weighed a ton. He wasn't even going to deny it.

"My point is…why?"

Emma's voice broke over that one last word. It came out in the form of a plea, and that alone made her wince. Her will was immovable; it would not bend to anyone, including Jefferson. How dare he think otherwise, wielding the gun in an attempt of control over her.

Gold was still and observant on the edge of the fireplace, apparently satisfied with letting Jefferson wave her gun around like the madman he was. Jefferson was the mad dog here, while Gold stood idly by holding the leash. _Gold's the one I have to worry about. The man never misses a trick. So, how do I make him drop his guard?_

"She's a friend," Jefferson flatly waved it off. Emma's eyes snapped onto him and she scoffed. If Gold had never crossed paths with Isabella, Jefferson sure as hell didn't. She swore under her breath, though it came out as a gurgle.

"Sure, she is. She's been locked up and a bookworm before that. Supposedly, you've been stuck in that house and the only reason you're here is because things started changing. The only time you come out is at night when you're begging to be hit like a road sign. I doubt you two crossed paths."

"You're not sending her back," Gold abruptly intercepted. His face was controlled as marble, his tone meaning to leave no room for argument. Emma always had a tough time biting her tongue, thick and disoriented as it may be.

"It's my job," she argued, her voice rising with confidence. "What do you expect me to do? You're a hypocrite—you're the one who put me in this position in the first place!"

Gold's jaw clenched and his cold brown eyes aimed daggers at her. She was pretty sure he wanted to hit her again with that cane. _Go ahead, do it. Give me another reason to fight back against you. That's not the way to win me over._

"If you send her back, Regina will rip out her heart. Literally," Jefferson snapped, shooting to his feet. The glow of the fire cast a shadow over his face as he towered over her, but Emma fearlessly met his stony gaze. Despite herself, she laughed.

"Oh, you are madder than I thought. You can't literally rip someone's heart out! News flash: that only happens on _The Vampire Diaries."_ Emma's body was shaking hysterically, her nerves a jumble as they seemed to come back to life. The handcuffs clinked together, reminding her that she was their prisoner.

"How do you think the Sheriff died? Coincidence?" Jefferson's lined face betrayed no sign that he was pulling straws out of thin air. He was dead serious. _What the hell does Graham have to do with this? Surely he doesn't think…_

Emma glanced at Gold, who was silent during Jefferson's ranting. His cold brown eyes were nearly black as they drank her in._ You are just as mad as he is if you're buying into this, Gold! Or are you using him because he's mad? _

"He had a heart attack! I watched him die in my arms!" Jerking her head forward, she tried not to let her frustration get the better of her. _Slow breaths, Emma. Calm down. Breathe._ "Oh, yeah. You are mad. If anyone deserves to be locked up in a psyche ward, it's you. Maybe you can take Isabella's place."

Her throat was raw with anger and disgust. All the while, the details in the corner of her eye never escaped her notice. A window to her left, along with the door. Nothing useful on the table. She had to escape, but she couldn't leave Isabella with two men as unpredictable as Gold and Jefferson._ There I go acting like the savior again._

She realized that Gold had spoken up and—in his general air of power—he commanded her attention.

"It is for Belle's best interest, dearie. If you send her back, Regina will win. Is that what you truly want?" He knew she hated it when Regina won unfairly as much as he did. And Regina did it so often, even with Henry. Who was to say that she wouldn't lock up an innocent girl for some masochistic reason?

"Okay, I get it. You two are the dynamic duo protecting Storybrooke from the 'Evil Queen's' wrath. Right," she sarcastically retorted. _And Leroy's the poster boy for safe driving, _she mentally added_._ Jefferson sneered at her.

"We're doing a hell of a lot better job than you are, Sheriff," he thundered over her.

She was about to open her mouth to protest when Gold crossed to her and settled on the arm of the couch. She tried to scoot away from him, but his hand landed on her shoulder, firmly holding her in place. His touch burned through her clothes.

Clothes…her leather jacket was missing. Emma's eyes darted around. There it was, hanging up by the door as if she were part of the family. _That had better be the only missing clothing. _As she thought it, she realized her boots were missing, too, leaving her with bare feet. At least she could scrunch her toes.

"Tell me, Emma. What have you done against ole Regina? Enlighten me," Gold challenged her, his accentuated voice hardly above a whisper.

Emma curled her fingers into hooks and scoured through her mind for something to prove him wrong. Of course there had been times when she'd bested Regina on her own. Did he think she fully relied on his help?

"I…I reunited Ava and Nicholas with their father," she announced. Gold arched an eyebrow as if to say: _that's all?_ Jefferson chuckled from his spot near the fireplace.

"My late congratulations," the hatter remarked. "Anything else? Tick, tock, tick, tock…"

Emma searched for another smart answer. She would have said that she had become Sheriff, but that had come with Gold's help, as did Mary Margaret's release from jail. Supposedly. She glared at Jefferson, heat traveling up her neck.

"No? That's because Regina is winning and you're too busy following the rules. You need people like us, Emma. People who are capable of doing the things you're too afraid to do."

Emma's head jerked back as if he'd slapped her. The meaning came across loud and clear. Gold patted Emma's shoulder, but it was not for comfort. It was for pity and mockery. _There, there. You know he's right._

"Excuse me?" _You're lucky, Jefferson. If there was a time when you deserved to be hit over the head with a telescope, it's now._ Jefferson smirked her way, his teeth gleaming pearly off-white in the glow of the raging fire.

"You heard me. Or should I say it out loud? Coward," he taunted in a sing-song voice. Beside her, Gold tensed visibly and his knuckles pulsing around his cane. Apparently, she wasn't the only one offended.

"I despise that term," he muttered under his breath. Jefferson aimed a disdainful stare at Gold and Emma felt the uncomfortable air between them like knives at a dartboard.

"You would," he returned sharply.

Emma eyed the two of them and a new realization formed in her mind. _Jefferson and Gold don't enjoy each other's company. They're just putting up with each other for my sake. Well, since they're distracted…_

Emma surreptitiously studied the table in front of her—on it, around it for any sort of weapon. It wouldn't match a gun, but anything was better than nothing at all. Her eyes roamed as the two men stared each other down.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Gold clamped his hand on her shoulder even more fiercely than before.

"Don't bother searching for a weapon, Emma. You see, I took the liberty of…Emma-proofing the cabin," he informed her. A proud smile touched his lips, the kind that made Emma's skin crawl. She glared back at him defiantly.

"Emma-proofing? Hah, you're cute," she snapped, urging him to release her shoulder. He did, only to rub that hand across his jaw with a malicious smile.

"I'm glad you noticed," he replied. Emma's stomach churned at the insinuation. Jefferson sighed vehemently, obviously not having the patience to hear Gold placing himself on a pedestal.

"That's not what I meant," she protested, but Gold cut her off with the raise of a hand.

"Intent is meaningless, Emma." _Bite your tongue, bite your tongue. No need to make an enemy out of Gold any more than necessary. _Sometimes that pawnbroker could be just so…irritating. And the fact that Jefferson seemed to share the same view only added fuel to her resourceful mind. _The enemy of my enemy, perhaps? _

"So what exactly is your deal with Isabella? Her and Jefferson are just friends…but what about you?"

Emma turned her full focus on Gold, who had straightened up considerably on the edge of the couch. He fixed his tie and smoothed down his suit, which was bordering perfect, anyway. _Show off,_ she grumbled inside her head.

"Well, I don't like to kiss and tell…but a cabin in the woods certainly has its uses." Emma suddenly wished she hadn't asked. Jefferson had turned away and was swiping a hand across his face in exasperation. _That makes two of us. Who knew we had so much in common?_

"I did not need to picture that. It's enough to drive ten men mad," Jefferson openly complained, shaking his head as if to shake the image right out. Gold chuckled as if truly amused by their reactions.

"You mean…you and her…" Emma slowly tilted her head to gaze down at the couch where she was sitting. In an instant, she was struggling to stand even though her legs wobbled beneath her. The drug seemed to be slowly wearing off.

Gold waved a hand for her to sit.

"Take a seat, Emma. It happened elsewhere," he said. With Gold's hand shoving against her arm, she collapsed back down onto the couch. She was sure he was telling the truth, but if he was she'd still rather not know about it. _The last thing I need is having the details of Gold's love life in my head. Pleasant._

"And by elsewhere, you mean…" Jefferson glanced down at the floor and shook his head violently. "Okay, I really did not need to picture that! And I slept on that floor last night!" Jefferson paced back and forth unnervingly. Emma grew vastly uncomfortable with both of them.

"Whatever. What exactly do you want from me? Are you going to kill me?" Doubt clouded her voice, though that gun wasn't looking too friendly now. If only there was a way to make Jefferson drop it. Last time, the weapon barely left his hands.

Gold's cane was nudging her boot again. _That's probably why he let Jefferson handle the gun. Gold doesn't need a gun when he has that cane. Ow, head. _

"Oh, Emma. Haven't I told you before? I like you. My wish is not so…unfortunate. All I want is for you to talk to Belle, to understand that she does not belong in that cell. Simple, yes?" Gold smiled knowingly down at her.

She knew he had power over her, much as she hated to admit it. If he wanted, he could force her to forget Isabella French even existed. All he needed was that one favor. _So why is he acting like I have a choice in the matter?_ _Sake of manipulation? _

"Is that my favor?" Gold's lips thinned and his brow furrowed as he studied her intently.

"I'd prefer not to rely on my favor just yet. I'd prefer it if you willingly came to Belle's aid. You are one to defend the weaker ones, aren't you? That's one of the things I like about you," he crooned, caressing her face with the back of his hand.

Emma gazed straight ahead, not really looking at Jefferson and not really seeing the flames, either. She sat in defiance, her breath quickening with anger.

"Oh, come now, Emma. Don't force me to waste one of my precious favors. I will," he whispered near her ear.

He was making it seem like she had a choice. But if she stuck her head under the surface of the calm water they were inevitably rocking on, she knew turbulent tides were swirling underneath. She knew there was only one answer he'd accept. There was only one way that he would unlock these handcuffs and release her. _You're not giving me a choice at all. It's always manipulation with you, Gold. _

"And what if I say hell no?"

Faster than she could follow, Gold's hand gripped her chin and forced her to look his way. With his hand holding her chin tightly, she was forced to stare into his brown eyes. His teeth were bared at her—he never liked to hear the word 'no' apparently. _Another reason why Isabella cannot stay here._

"No one breaks deals with me, dearie," he hissed. His fingers dug into her skin painfully, until she was sure there'd be bruises the next day. Jefferson grimaced from the fireplace. Emma had almost forgotten the hatter was there.

"Aw, let her go. She'll talk to Belle easily enough," he confidently assured Gold.

It was another long moment before Gold eased up on her and removed his hand. It ached from where his fingers had grabbed her. Those brown eyes were now glittering with distrust for Jefferson.

"What makes you so confident?" Jefferson smiled at Emma and cocked his head at her in pure fascination.

"Simple. She's becoming intrigued. Curiouser and curiouser."

* * *

><p><em><strong>So, what did you all think? Hmm? <strong>_

_**Of course, I have my awesome readers to thank for giving me such good reviews last time! Here's a shout-out to my reviewers: Grace5231973, Bluecanbegreen, Princess Zelda98, prttykitty7728, Slytherclaw5298, Nightmother, Cris Coursey, thedoctorsgirl42, DragonRose4, and Guest. **_

_**For the anonymous Guest, can I just say that your review had me laughing so hard? Now I have a mental image of Belle spraying Rumpel in the face like a cat every time he does something she doesn't like. (-; **_

_**Until next time, my lovely readers!**_


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: I know you've all been waiting patiently for the next chapter and for that I thank you. I hope everyone enjoys this one. I think it's a pretty long one, which is good for you. **_

_**Chapter Twenty-Two**_

"Okay, Emma. This is what's going to happen," Jefferson pronounced slowly, as if she were the one experiencing serious mental issues. Gold stoked the dying fire with a grim frown—he had made good on his word about wasting that favor. Emma was about to come face-to-face with Isabella French.

Jefferson knelt a few feet away from her, the side of the gun raised to his lips. The drug-induced stupor had all but faded, though she didn't doubt he had more on hand, just in case. If she was going to act out, she had to time it right.

"Unless you want to walk barefoot over sticks and stones, you'll be a good girl and put on your boots. Try anything funny and—" He waved the gun as a hint. Carefully, he placed her boots before her and rapidly backed away.

"You won't shoot me," she scoffed as she slid forward on the couch and bent to retrieve her boots. Jefferson arched an eyebrow and tilted the gun in her direction. It was a bluff, of that she was dead certain. But while he held that gun, she couldn't risk testing him.

It was the second that her fingers grazed the smooth leather of her boots that electricity shot along her nerves; an idea hit her. Emma needed to get Jefferson in close range. One of the best natural weapons: feet. _It's a long shot, but what other option do I have? How long will they keep me here until they think I'm expendable? _

Her hand abruptly fell flat and fumbled with the boot. It toppled over and Emma slumped forward, elbows on her knees, blonde hair raining down like a golden waterfall between her legs. Her head lolled on her shoulders and her arms curled around her stomach.

"I…I can't…" Her voice came in shallow gasps and her body leaned to one side. She could feel Jefferson's eyes on her skin, but she didn't dare check his reaction. Was he pausing? Drawing closer? Or ignoring her? "You…drugged me…"

A low grumble, followed by heavy steps as Jefferson closed in with uncertainty. Beneath the thick curtain of gold, Emma smirked. _Come on, Jefferson. Come a little closer. That's it. That ego of yours needs a reality check. _

He was so close; she could almost hear his calm breathing hovering above her. So close…

"She's lying," Gold announced, hurling a massive rock into the glass house that had been a faint semblance of a plan. Crack, shatter, collapse. "One of her clever deceptions, no doubt. Had you taken another step, you would have surely been a eunuch."

And, _damn it, _Jefferson was moving away toward the fireplace. Away from her. She was almost tempted to lunge at him anyway, to try to pry the gun from his hands before he could shoot it off, but the odds of having Gold here made it tricky. Frustrated, she swept her blonde hair over her shoulders and wrestled with her boots. Her green eyes glared at Gold's suited back.

"Feel free to shoot as many darts at me as you like, Emma. Contrary to popular belief, looks cannot really kill." Jefferson released a small snicker at Emma's bemused expression as she tugged the other boot on.

"One can only hope," she muttered.

Still holding the poker, Gold rotated to face her, his face cold and unreadable. Inevitably, her eyes dropped to the poker curled in his fist and she stiffened. Stomach tightening, she straightened, preparing for whatever Gold might do to her.

She knew better than most the he was unpredictable at best—just look what he did to Moe French over a simple chipped cup. _In this very spot, _she remembered with a chill. Emma stared back, unfaltering, waiting for him to charge at her or strike her.

Instead, he smiled menacingly and set the poker down beside the fireplace.

"I must say, Emma…I've always adored your bravery. Bravery…or foolishness," he said softly with a curl of the lips. Satisfied that she was done, Jefferson snapped his fingers at her like she was a dog.

"Let's go," he demanded, rushing over to yank her to her feet by her arm. Emma hissed as soreness spread from the spot under his fingers. Pulling her hand back, she punched his chest. He staggered back a few inches, but held on tight. Emma struggled in his grip, lifting one of her legs to lash out at him.

"Don't make me do this, dear," Gold's rough, accented voice came from beside her. Emma stopped struggling and glanced over at him in shock. She hadn't even noticed that he moved, stealthy as he was. And then her eyes widened even further.

In Gold's hand, aimed just above the skin of her neck, was a syringe.

The silver needle gleamed in the light of the fire, posing a threat. An inch more and the tip would pierce her skin and that stupor would seize her mind once more. She would once again be left at their mercy.

"Be a good girl," Jefferson cooed in her ear from the other side. Emma's lips thinned out unhappily and her muscles relaxed. She dipped her head ever so slightly in obedience. Gold smirked brilliantly and rolled the syringe in his fingers.

"Good choice," he murmured approvingly before stuffing the syringe back into his suit and grabbing ahold of her other arm. Together, Jefferson and Gold led her outside, every step bringing her closer to Isabella French.

...

Belle finished reading the story of _Cinderella_ and suppressed a shudder.

The Grimm fairy tales were undeniably dark and even gruesome at times, what with the mention of Cinderella's step-sisters slicing chunks of skin off their heels and getting their eyes pecked out by birds. She much preferred the story of _Beauty and the Beast. _

Glancing up from the next page, she watched as Emma Swan was led out of the cabin by Jefferson and Rumpelstiltskin. The sheriff might as well have been a prisoner journeying to the gallows—handcuffed, shoulders slumped in temporary defeat, expression grim, arms trapped in the hold of the two men that flanked either side.

Belle frowned a little to see Emma treated this way, as if she were a murderer instead of an upholder of the law.

In the back of her mind, she knew that Emma wanted to abide by her job and return her to that horrible hospital. If their roles were reversed, Belle wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't do the same. This "talk" between them was meant to change that.

"Belle," Rumpelstiltskin, of course, was the one to address her, even as Jefferson had opened his mouth to speak. Belle smiled appreciatively at the hatter, hoping he wasn't too distraught with Rumpelstiltskin. "Miss Swan here would like nothing more than to have a nice chat with you. Isn't that right?"

Rumpelstiltskin craned his neck closer to Emma, daring her to object.

"Sure," Emma grumbled. "Why the hell not? It's not like I have anywhere else to be, right?"

Jefferson smirked at Emma as he moved his hand to her lightly clothed shoulder. Belle could see that Emma was shivering slightly in her short-sleeve shirt—it was quite windy out here in the woods.

"That's the spirit, Emma," Jefferson said, his lips close to Emma's ear. Her arm jerked as if she wanted to slap him.

And then Belle saw a glimmer of something more than irritation in Jefferson's dark eyes. It was a quick flash of brightness, the kind of life that was present in Rumpelstiltskin's brown eyes whenever he looked her way or planned to kiss her. In a word: longing. _Oh, my. _

"I would love to talk with you," she carefully assured Emma. "Please." She politely closed her book and gestured for Emma to take a seat under the tree. The sheriff studied the ground with obvious distaste.

"I think I'd rather—" _Stand, _Belle guessed she might have said. Jefferson and Rumpelstiltskin put pressure on her shoulders and forced her to the ground. Emma moaned as she landed on her elbows and knees. "Or not."

Emma pulled herself into a sitting position, cross-legged across from Belle. It was a rather still moment as the sheriff's eyes roamed over her, the wheels spinning in her head. Belle smiled politely and a warm blush crept into the apples of her cheeks.

"This is a fascinating conversation, Emma. Please continue," Jefferson broke the awkward silence by mocking her. Emma shifted and sent the two men a glare.

"Do you mind if we have a little privacy?" The two men exchanged guarded glances and then eyed Belle with obvious concern. Emma held up her cuffed hands. "I swear I won't take off through the trees."

Belle watched as Rumpelstiltskin grinned confidently, the kind he wore when he knew he was holding all the aces.

"I know that, dearie. You won't leave Belle in our good company nor will you get very far if you run," he replied. At the same time, Jefferson revealed a gun to further convince Emma. Belle didn't think Jefferson would actually use the weapon and maybe Emma realized this, too.

There was easily another reason that Emma would not make an escape attempt. She believed Emma might be curious enough to hear her out. At least, she hoped.

"Ten minutes," Jefferson sighed.

The two men wandered away, lingering by the front of the cabin instead. Right now, their backs were half-turned toward them, but Belle knew they'd be watching. She also knew the reason for the time limit—in short bursts of conversation, they hoped to control the damage Emma could wreak on her situation. A manipulation tactic, no less.

"So, Isabella…" Emma started, but Belle held up a hand.

"Please, call me Belle," she requested. She disliked being reminded of her other self, the one that belonged here in Storybrooke. That was the girl Emma was looking for. "I suppose this is where I plead my case?"

Belle smiled nervously at the sheriff, whose eyes had been scanning the area. Her eyes—as emerald as the sun-kissed trees around them—snapped to attention and she did not seem very pleased. Belle could hardly blame her. _Who is the real prisoner: you or me? _

"You're not the one who should be apologizing. Your…uh, caretaker hit me over the head with his cane." Emma lifted her arms to rub the back of her head, the cuffs clinking together. Belle glanced over Emma's shoulder at Rumpelstiltskin and her smile drooped.

"He means well," she sighed. Stubborn as she was, it was hardly an answer Emma would accept. Her mouth gaped open in disbelief.

"He means well? He _hit _me over the _head_ with a _cane _and he _means well?_" Belle's posture straightened and she found herself growing defensive. Her fingers curled around the volume of fairy tales until they shook.

"He was just trying to protect me! You can't blame him for that," she argued. Emma's eyes narrowed and her expression grew hard. This talk wasn't going as well as Belle hoped it would.

"Yeah, I can. I'm the Sheriff and he assaulted me, not to mention he's keeping me hostage here with the Mad Hatter. Those two have a jail cell with their names on it," Emma retorted, pointing to the men in the distance.

A cold wind blew through the trees and Emma's resolve cracked as she shivered. Sympathy overwhelming her, Belle started to unzip her sweater.

"Would you like my sweater?" Emma's skin was icy white and covered with goose bumps. Her hands reached up to rub them, but still she shook her head. Stubborn, to no end.

"No, thank you," she murmured.

Suddenly Emma froze in place and her eyes latched onto something on Belle's lower body. Belle followed her gaze and gasped when she saw the thin hint of her scar poking out from the sleeve of her sweater.

Too late she tried to cover it up; Emma quickly grabbed ahold of her wrist.

"Belle, where did you get those scars?" Her tone was decisive and not meant for argument. Belle tried to pull her wrist away, but Emma maintained her grip. The sheriff thrust up the sleeves to reveal the entire length of the pink scar. "What the hell…"

It was the same question Mr. Gold had asked when he'd offered her hospitality. Except that time she had really been sleeping in the form of Isabella French and did not have any memory. She remembered Rumpelstiltskin's warning not to mention their world to Emma—she'd surely get re-committed for sure.

"I don't know. I've had them as long as I can remember." Emma's green eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Belle, searching for some small sign of dishonesty. Understanding passed over her face before transforming into a mask of accusation.

"You're lying," she flatly stated.

The pieces seemed to fall for her and she glanced over her shoulder at Rumpelstiltskin—Mr. Gold to her. Belle followed her gaze and the book tumbled from her lap as she grasped Emma's arm desperately.

"No! He didn't...He would never do that to me," she protested. Emma's attention shot back to her, though the questions did not slow. That gaze penetrated her like fierce lightning, demanding answers.

"Then where did you get them? Tell me the truth this time." Belle hesitated, drawing away from Emma. The name darted around her tongue, tempting to slip out. It was bursting up, coming, forming on her lips…

"Regina," she whispered with the wind. All was still around them; even the leaves stopped rustling after a mere second as if stunned by the admission. And then that strong grip settled on Belle's arm again, examining her scars.

"You're telling me…_Regina _did this to you? While you were locked away in the psych ward?"

Belle's throat grew tight with emotion as that awful day swam up in her memory, one that existed in a completely different world. The burning, the sensation of the iron scorching back her white skin, her clenched teeth as she tried to hold onto consciousness…

"Yes. Regina gave me these scars…while I was imprisoned." It wasn't a lie. Regina had been the cause of her misery during her time in the Queen's castle. It was simply that her sentence had been extended beyond, into the next world.

Belle peeked under her eyelids and saw genuine remorse written on the sheriff's face, much as she was obviously trying to shove it back down. That was good, right? Maybe everything would turn out okay for them.

"Belle, I have to know. Has Mr. Gold ever gotten upset with you? Has he ever done something to hurt you?" Belle felt that they were taking one step forward and another step back.

Instinctively, she knew Emma was trying to help her, but her suspicions were biased. Emma simply didn't know who Mr. Gold truly was, what he was capable of being.

"Mr. Gold has been kind for the most part," she confidently replied. Emma arched an eyebrow.

"For the most part?" Belle bit down on her lip and tried not to look beyond to where Rumpelstiltskin was standing. Instead, she weaved her fingers together in her lap to distract her overworked mind. "Belle?"

"He's not a monster, Sheriff," she burst out. "He…he has moments where he believes he is a monster, but the truth is much different. There are times when he looks in the mirror and only sees the black parts, something unworthy of love. To me, he's not as bad as he honestly believes. Maybe I can even help him."

She hadn't meant to say so much, but a heavy weight lifted from her shoulders the moment the words escaped. It filled her with relief, though it would be better if the Sheriff understood. Silence was all she earned.

Emma had gone from being suspicious to being truly alarmed as she studied the seemingly well-minded girl across from her. _I was wrong. This is worse than I thought. _

….

Gold and Jefferson lingered near the front of the cabin, though they constantly checked over their shoulders at the pair settled under the large tree behind them. Gold dug his cane into the earth and lifted his head to notice Jefferson's eyes peering at Emma's blonde head again.

He muffled his rising chuckle in his throat—the hatter was not as complex as he liked to think. The man was obviously hung up over their dear Sheriff. _Good. It's about time you dogged after a woman that did not belong to me. _

"Your assessment?" _When's the wedding? I'd certainly love an invitation, _Gold thought with snide amusement. Jefferson's eyes darkened considerably and a worried frown marred his lips.

"Judging by the furrowed brow and deepening grimace…I'd say not well," he replied, shoving his fists into his black jeans pockets. "She's not buying it."

Gold sneered. This was hardly news to him. It would have been a miracle if Emma began to sing a new tune after one talk.

"Of course not. That would make our job too easy. Emma Swan is stubborn above all else," he muttered, though he couldn't quite keep the admiration out of his voice. If anything, Emma Swan was a challenge to him, something he could spend his time breaking.

"You're telling me," Jefferson gave a dry, emotionless laugh. "Not much of a savior if she doesn't believe."

Underneath that calm façade was a ripple of annoyance. The hatter was impatient with his little Emma. Gold could see how much Jefferson wanted to open Emma's eyes; in more ways than one, if he wanted to bet.

"Give her time." Jefferson spun on Gold, that cold fury erupting through the mask. His distaste shown through as he glared at the pawnbroker.

"Time? Time is exactly what Belle doesn't have right now," he spat. Something inside Gold snapped—perhaps he was sick of playing this silly little game with Jefferson. In any case, he sent a piercing glower right back.

"Do you honestly believe you're the only one who cares for her? You think you and Belle will hold a tea party with Grace?" Gold flung the name at Jefferson as if it tasted horrible on his sharp tongue. The agony on Jefferson's face was hard to miss. Time for the overkill. "Must be painful to watch her bask in someone else's arms. In _my _arms. You care for her? I _love _her," he snarled.

Jefferson rubbed a hand across his face and scoffed.

"You have a funny way of showing it. Tossing her away like a pitiful beggar woman only to have her captured by Regina and tortured!"

Jefferson's voice climbed with icy anger with each syllable. Any louder and their lovely ladies would hear. His fists curled by his sides and Gold remembered the gun that was tucked away on his person. _I do believe he might actually shoot me. Good luck. _

And then Jefferson made the worst mistake of all, sealing the deal that bound Gold's hatred for him.

"If it weren't for you, Belle wouldn't even have those scars!" In one swift movement, Gold had come within an inch of Jefferson's face, though the hatter did not cower away. _Fool. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have known Belle existed. _

"Your next words are crucial," Gold warned in a threatening, low voice. Jefferson hardly flinched, his arm reeling back to feel the gun tucked into his side. The knowledge of it made him even more cocky than usual.

"What will you do, imp? Turn me into a snail?" Jefferson tilted his head, waiting for Gold's response. There was no magic here in this land…but he was known for being creative.

Gripping his cane by the head, Gold swung it back and thrust it into Jefferson's lower leg. Immediately, Jefferson let out a whoosh of air that descended into a moan. He bent forward at the waist, clutching a hand to his throbbing leg.

"Snails were so twenty-eight years ago. Keep up with the times, hatter."

….

The four of them re-entered the cabin, a solemn bunch. It weighed on Emma's shoulders the heaviest, for it appeared her situation was not getting better anytime soon. It didn't help that she actually felt sorry for Belle while sitting under that tree with her.

Excusing herself upon setting foot inside, Belle quietly left her Grimm volume on the table and slipped off into a room at the other end of the cabin. Emma guessed it was the only real bedroom, a good place to be alone.

Gold closed the door behind him, his brown eyes staring after the brunette beauty. Emma noticed something odd about him that she had never seen before—there was concern in the depths of his eyes, no matter how quickly it diminished with his refocused attention on her.

For Belle's sake, Emma sensed that he would never allow his guard to drop, would never give Emma a chance to locate an ace in the deck of cards. _We'll see about that, Gold. You're the one who called me resourceful. _

"So?" Jefferson prodded her, settling into the chair he had occupied when she first awoke. He had a slight limp to his leg, but she didn't ask about it now.

Sighing, Emma sank down onto the couch. Her messy blonde hair sprawled over her shoulders. God, she could really use a hot shower right now and a change of clothes.

"Definitely Stockholm Syndrome," she surmised.

As she expected, outrage flooded the room on the heels of her diagnosis. Jefferson abruptly leapt up from his seat, black eyes wild with upset. Gold lurched forward, his powerful air demanding an explanation already.

"Clever. I know you think we are inappropriate, despicable men, Miss Swan," Gold roughly shot at her. Jefferson's lips quirked in astonishment.

"Speak for yourself," he mumbled. Gold ignored him.

"But I assure you, Belle has never been harmed by our hands. If you want someone to blame for her suffering, I suggest you point your finger at Regina," Gold growled as he towered over her, his back straighter than she had ever seen before.

"According to you. She's a different matter, Gold. _She _told me you were kind to her _for the most part_," she said and watched as Gold's face drained of resolve. "You're good with words, right? _For the most part_ implies a period of time where you weren't so kind. Followed by any act of kindness, you have her defending you. Sympathizing with you, thinking she can help you."

"This is ridiculous. Belle does not have Stockholm Syndrome," Jefferson argued, waving his hands frantically in front of him. "You're just looking for an excuse to send her back to that cell. Knock it off, Emma."

Clenching her jaw tight, Emma stared back defiantly. She wondered if Archie would have agreed with her.

"You wanted me to talk to her. I did. And I'm telling you what I saw. Stockholm Syndrome," she repeated slowly, which only sent Jefferson even more over the edge. He began pacing uneasily along the floor. Gold's eyes burned into her skin.

"Perhaps this will take longer than we thought," Gold blatantly said.

Emma met his eyes and silently exchanged a rebellious look with him. How long would he insist on keeping her captive? Until she agreed with him, no doubt.

The full reality of her situation hit her then. She was being held hostage in a cabin no one was likely to come across. What about Henry and Mary Margaret, who were probably going to worry about her? What about her job?

Job.

Job. Hm.

_Click of the light bulb, Emma. How long until it fizzles out? _

"Hey, aren't you going to be late opening up your shop?" _Not like anyone visits, anyway. Only those who pay their rent, _she thought bitterly.

Gold studied her cautiously. He obviously suspected that her change in attitude was a ploy. He read her too well—he never underestimated her. But as one who deals in contracts, he could not disregard logic.

"I'm a hardworking businessman, Emma. What's one day off?" Gold leaned forward and leered down at her. That smile made her skin crawl. Jefferson watched the exchange curiously.

"Think about it. Regina already suspects you have something to do with Belle's disappearance. If you don't show up at work, it'll only make her more suspicious. She'll wonder why you're a no-show. Plus the fact that I'll have disappeared—you think she'll consider it a coincidence?"

Emma's green eyes bore into Gold's, waiting for him to acknowledge the fact that she was right. He knew she was right. Sometimes, the pawnbroker could be just as stubborn as she was.

The only sound was the low crackle of the flames in the fireplace and Gold's rapid breathing. Then, his brown eyes flickered over to Jefferson, as though silently asking his opinion.

"Your call," Jefferson shrugged it off. "Though…I have to admit, our little savior is right. Going about your daily routine might give Regina reason to back off." Jefferson adjusted his black scarf around his throat while Emma gawked at him.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just agreed with me," she exclaimed. Hope soared up within her. Maybe…just maybe she could figure this out. Maybe she could beat the odds yet.

"Mad, isn't it? Maybe I just like you."

Jefferson flashed a bright, white-toothed smile that any other woman would have deemed dazzling. Then again, did her heart actually just skip for a minute? No, that was impossible.

Gold apparently made up his mind as he opened his suit jacket and retrieved something from one of the pockets. It was the syringe, filled with that heady drug. Emma's stomach did a nervous flip. _No, that's not what I wanted. I can't do anything if he injects that drug into me again. Please, no. _

One knee landing on the couch, Gold scrambled closer, the needle aimed at her skin. She could almost smell the intoxicating drug and feel the small prick of the needle.

"I'll give it to her," Jefferson interrupted, extending a hand out for it.

Gold paused with the tip of the needle hovering above her, a drop of the drug falling onto her jeaned leg. Emma rubbed the wetness away; she'd rather not have any of it on or in her at all.

The two men stared each other down. Bolts of lightning could have struck through the roof and it would not compare to the intensity firing between them. Noting Gold's reluctance, Jefferson snickered.

"What? You don't trust me?"

Emma observed the two and knew that she had been right the first time: Gold and Jefferson detested each other. Gold lounged back against the arm of the couch and shook his head, the needle clenched in his hand.

"Not as far as I can throw you, _dearie,"_ he retorted.

Those cold eyes turned back to Emma and she imagined kicking the syringe out of his hand, maybe even breaking his wrist. Gold must have imagined the same thing, for he pulled the syringe further away and nestled his cane on his lap. _You have a foot, I have a cane. Which will win, Emma? _

"I figured you'd want to see Belle. Since you're leaving," Jefferson remarked. Something told Emma that Jefferson, like her, would be only too happy to be rid of Gold's presence. _Another thing we agree on. What the hell is wrong with me? _

Standing, Gold held the syringe out to Jefferson. Leveling one last look of warning at Emma, he headed off to the room where Belle had retreated.

Emma did not shift on the couch to watch Gold, but knew the moment he was out of sight when Jefferson's body relaxed.

Whirling to the fireplace, Jefferson emptied the syringe into the flames, resulting in a hiss. As he laid the syringe on the table, their eyes locked and she silently asked the question: _Why? _

"You're too boring when you're drugged."

….

_**Just a heads-up: this will probably be the last chapter for a couple of weeks. Reality calls. Don't worry, though—I promise the wait will be worth it (hopefully). **_

_**For now, I wish to thank all those that have reviewed: Bluecanbegreen, megumisakura, Sheherazade's Fable, PrincessTiannah, Grace5231973, rene10, writindownsouth, lilylulurose, tigger64, prttykitty7728, and the other anonymous Guests that have reviewed.**_

_**Thank you all! You guys keep me smiling and writing! (-;**_


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: Hello, everyone! After a good vacation, I am back and I am refreshed! Just to prove it, I have an extra long chapter here for you. So I hope everyone enjoys while I count down the days until I can buy my copy of OUAT Season one on DVD. Gr…**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Three**_

Belle was arranging the roses that were gloriously soaking up the sun in the windowsill. They were so beautiful in the soft golden glow and it reminded her of those days in the Dark Castle. Rumpelstiltskin must have added them as a last touch in her favor.

She stroked the smooth emerald stem of a rose and brought it to her lips to inhale its sweet fragrance. In her mind, she could picture Rumpelstiltskin holding out that rose for her in his castle; it was around that time that she had begun to grow close to him.

The petals tickled her nose and the silence of the cabin almost convinced her that she was still standing in the dining hall of that castle, wearing that forsaken blue dress that had truthfully been a tad bit tight around the waist.

Beautiful.

The door opened and she whirled, her reverie shattered, expecting to see Emma somehow loose in the doorway. Among the details Rumpelstiltskin had provided her for the sheriff, _resourceful _was one of them. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she met a pair of rich brown eyes instead.

Softly, Rumpelstiltskin closed the door behind him and took a careful step forward with his bad leg. Saving him the trouble, Belle closed the distance between them and slipped her arms around him.

One of his arms embraced her back, holding her as close as humanly possible. A hint of cologne wafted around her and she found herself burying her nose into his silk shirt to savor the smell of him—a reminder that this was real. His chest rose and fell calmly under her head and she smiled as she picked up the rhythm of his beating heart.

"Belle," he murmured her name as his lips pressed down over the crown of her head. It was not a pleasurable sigh of affection. It was a request for her attention.

Puzzled, she tilted her head back to gaze up at him. For the first time, she noticed the remorse etched deep in his face. Her blood turned to ice in her veins, her arms becoming iron clasps around his body. Something was wrong.

"What's happened? Emma?" Worry made her heart hammer inside her chest like a paddleball while her gaze flickered to the bedroom door. Her embrace was akin to a frightened child seeking comfort.

A slender finger lightly touched her lips, easing her restlessness.

"I promised you would be safe in this cabin. I never break my word, Belle," he assured her.

The breath that was lodged in her throat was blessedly released. Everything was under control. But then why did he still look so regretful? Rumpelstiltskin noticeably avoided her probing eyes and fidgeted with his tie instead.

"I'll need to attend to my shop for a few hours. Otherwise, Regina will become suspicious as to my whereabouts. You know we can't have that."

Belle sank her head onto his shoulder. That was it? The meaning between the lines was what weighed on her the heaviest. He was leaving her side in order to protect her from the Queen. It was the bravest thing she had ever seen him do and her lips lifted into a proud smile.

Maybe he had changed after all.

Ever since awaking, she kept forgetting that the rules here varied from the ones in the realms. She kept forgetting that Rumpelstiltskin to her was simply Mr. Gold to everyone else and that he was required time and again to maintain his appearance as a small-town pawnbroker.

Still, Belle could not deny that she would long for him while he was absent.

"Go," she whispered and realized too late that it would hurt him. The word echoed in her ears, bringing back a harsh memory from the Dark Castle. Now his face appeared much in the same way it had after she'd bravely had her say—it crumbled. Belle's face softened as she brushed the strands of his hair from his face. "Do what you have to do. I'll be waiting."

Beneath her touch, his muscles relaxed and a small smile formed. His voice crooned in her ear and his fingers gently lifted her chin. Dipping his head forward, his forehead rested against her own. His breath tickled her skin just as the rose petals had done.

"I will be back for you. Soon," he promised, caressing her jaw. This was for the best. Belle smiled to show she understood. She could not help the feeling that she owed her life to him, just as their deal once claimed so long ago.

Rumpelstiltskin laid a kiss on her forehead and pulled away to start for the door. Belle's hand slid along his arm and refused to release his hand.

His brown eyes glanced down at her hand resting there and then darted up to lock onto her wide blue eyes. A slow smile curved his lips as she reeled him back in—he knew what she wanted. The thing she was loath to have in the Enchanted Forest.

Bringing his hand to the back of her head, she allowed it to tilt back into his waiting palm. The fullness of her white throat was exposed to him and he planted a kiss on the hollow of her throat, making her shiver with delight. Swiftly, his lips descended again to capture her soft ones. It was a willful spark that ignited into a roaring flame.

Tossing his cane aside, he pulled her into the circle of his arms and kissed her harder. A low moan drifted from deep inside her as his fingers curled into her hair and her hands slid along his chest.

It was while his lips were teasingly trailing along the base of her neck that sense gradually lapped against her frazzled mind.

"We can't do this. Not here," she breathed into his ear. Her hands tried to urge him away, but his arms wrapped tighter around her waist, as impenetrable as heavy chains, holding her still as he planted a kiss just beneath the lobe of her ear.

"You started it," he reminded her, his voice rough with pleasure. "It was you who could not let me go without a real kiss. I was simply satisfying your wish, dearie."

Belle reached back and unclasped his hands from her waist. Lustful brown eyes stared down at her in astonishment.

"I know. And I am also the one stopping it. For all we know, Emma and Jefferson might hear us. What we were about to do, it's…it's rude," she retorted, crossing her arms securely over her chest.

Annoyance flashed through his eyes as he bent to retrieve his cane. It was obvious that kiss was as far as they were going at the moment and she'd appreciate it if he could just as eagerly respect that wish. A kiss was enough.

"Emma is a tad bit preoccupied searching for a way to escape her binds. And the hatter is much too fascinated fiddling with that lousy gun to notice our activities. Besides, we'd only be doing what Jefferson wishes he could accomplish with Emma," he reasoned while expertly smoothing down his suit. Belle tilted her head.

"You've noticed, too?"

Ever since Jefferson had joined them, he could not seem to take his eyes off Emma. It was as if she were the only thing in the room with him. Much as he tried to hide it, Belle knew Jefferson was drawn to the Sheriff. Maybe it was a dose of true love.

Rumpelstiltskin seemed to be following the same train of thought.

"Belle, the man could not be more obvious if he were dressed in a sparkling diamond suit and strolling down the street with a neon sign around his neck that reads '_I'm in love with Emma Swan!' _At least I made an effort to be blasé about my emotions for you."

Belle could not help the small snicker in her throat as Rumpelstiltskin more or less admitted his love. She drifted close to him and traced the lapels of his suit. She wondered if he ever missed the leather.

"I think I had you figured out the moment you caught me in your arms. It was then I realized you could be a good man. A true beast would have let me fall," she told him. Her smile grew as she registered the slight pink clouding his face. "Oh, Mr. Blasé, I believe you are blushing."

All too easily, Rumpelstiltskin snaked his arm around her back and he pulled her into him. For a moment, they swayed together and she had to hold onto him for support. His mouth hovered above hers, threatening her with a daring kiss as his fingers cupped her chin.

"Those are tempting words, Belle. Word to the wise…you should never tempt a beast," he whispered before landing another kiss on her lips. Belle heeded him enough to kiss him back before breaking away.

"You are not a beast. You are so much better than that, Rumpelstiltskin." Judging by his dubious expression and averted gaze, he didn't believe it. Her heart squeezed achingly. "Do you want to know one of my deepest wishes?"

Belle dangled it in front of him, waiting for him to bite the hook. It was much too good for him to resist. His brown eyes gleamed with the thirst for knowledge that could never be found in any book.

"Tell me," he pleaded her, his grip tightening slightly over her hips. Belle caressed his face, her blue eyes only reflecting sadness.

"I wish you had the courage to see yourself as I do."

Turning away to find solace in the roses, Belle would decidedly speak no more. She barely heard the thudding of his cane on the floorboards or the click of the doorknob sliding back into place. And suddenly, she was alone with her last words echoing in her ears.

Lifting a red rose to her cheek, she lost herself in its silky petals and let the sweet scent consume her.

…..

Henry crouched in the alleyway and hoped no one had spotted him. The last thing he needed was someone coming up to him now, blowing his cover, wondering what a kid with a fairy tale book was doing sneaking around alleyways. No doubt the news would reach the Evil Queen.

Except his behavior had next to nothing to do with the Evil Queen this time. It was strictly about Emma, who hadn't returned to Mary Margaret's like she promised.

Mary Margaret kept saying that Emma was fine, but Henry knew she was as worried as he was. The cookies he'd saved for her had gone cold. The station was empty, her Bug gone. The last person to have seen her would likely be Mr. Gold, since she had been planning on speaking with him alone.

The only other explanation was…

No. Emma was different. Emma had changed. She wouldn't do that to him; he refused to believe she would just leave. Not after everything they'd been through with the curse hanging over their heads.

Somehow, the answer was with Mr. Gold, which was why Henry was trailing the pawnbroker all the way from the diner. He liked to think he did a good job, ducking behind cars and buildings. He was sure Mr. Gold was unaware of it.

There was nothing different about Mr. Gold's routine, except for maybe the fact that Mr. Gold was a little late opening up his shop. That was odd. Mr. Gold was usually one of the most punctual people Henry knew, always keeping to his word when it concerned business.

Henry peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of awkward movement as Mr. Gold slipped inside his shop. He slowly released a breath and sat cross-legged on the shady cement. The stench of garbage made his nose scrunch up—a far cry from Mary Margaret's chocolate chip cookies. Those were yummy. He wondered if Mr. Gold liked cookies. Or did they not have them in the fairy tale world? Chocolate chip cookies with rich, melting chips…

_Focus, _Henry fought to stay on track with his current operation. _I need to find Emma. _

He'd have to ask Mr. Gold sometime. And one thing Henry never did was chicken out. His grandfather was Prince Charming, after all.

The bell echoed in his ears as he pulled the door open and entered the surprisingly breezy pawnshop.

The puppets unnerved him a little, so he moved as far away from them as possible. His wide eyes were instantly drawn to the glittery glass mobile hanging above a display case, complete with little unicorns. He just knew it belonged to Snow White and her daughter, his mother. Who else could it have belonged to?

"A customer already. My, my," Mr. Gold's voice came from somewhere near the register. Henry's nose scrunched up in confusion—he still couldn't figure out who Mr. Gold really was besides Belle's beast, but he bet it was someone magical if he could slip up behind people like that. "Henry. Out for an early morning walk around town?"

Mr. Gold's tone was pleasant, but the implication was not lost on Henry. He knew. But Mr. Gold knew everything, didn't he? He should have known better than to try to follow him and think he wouldn't notice. Henry fought to keep his face expressionless, even though his stomach was flipping like a pancake.

"I'm just looking for Emma. Have you seen her anywhere?"

Henry wandered to the glass mobile while watching Mr. Gold's reaction from the corner of his eye. Leaning heavily on his cane, Mr. Gold's brown eyes flickered to the mobile that Henry was aiming for and then away.

"Can't say I have. She came into my shop just last night, asking questions about some poor missing girl. After she left, I went home, had myself a cup of tea, and went to bed. The end," he answered, shrugging loosely.

Henry narrowed his eyes slightly—he knew very well that Mr. Gold could be a good liar. He'd lied to the Queen often enough, hadn't he? Henry wished he had Emma's superpower right now.

"Are you sure? Her car's gone," Henry pressed forward. Mr. Gold was lying, he had to be. But the pawnbroker's face remained placid as always.

"Well, Miss Swan was intent on leaving us at one point, wasn't she? No more than a week, if I remember her exact words," Mr. Gold hinted, latching onto Henry's greatest fear.

His heart beat rapidly in his throat, the book almost slipping from his hands. No, that was so long ago. Emma had changed—for him.

"You're wrong. Emma wouldn't leave," Henry practically shouted. Water warmed his eyelids and he held his chin higher. He refused to show weakness to someone like Mr. Gold. Emma would be proud of him yet. "What'd you do to her?"

That part was softer, almost a whisper. He knew instantly it was a mistake.

Mr. Gold heard the accusation. Of course he had. His eyebrows rose in astonishment and his jaw clenched tightly. The hand that steadied his cane curled until his knuckles were white. Henry's stomach jiggled as he started worrying over what Mr. Gold might do to him. Would the Evil Queen even care?

"Excuse me?" It was a snake-like hiss, sending a shiver down Henry's spine.

Heat rose to his face as Mr. Gold carefully circled the table to stand a mere few feet away from him. Power cloaked him like a second skin, though Henry refused to shrink back. Holding the book close to his chest like a shield, this was his way of facing the beast.

"Your mother would not be pleased to hear you make such rude accusations, Henry. Especially without proof."

_Which one? _Henry was certain he meant Emma, his true mother. It was his working theory that Mr. Gold was in with Regina. The two were a perfect pair, anyway. Bad, deceiving, always lying. Powerful.

The silence between them was sharp as glass. Henry would not apologize—not when he sensed he was right. Mr. Gold was hiding something. And Mr. Gold obviously refused to offer any other words to him, besides the permission to leave.

"If you're not intending to purchase anything, I suggest you leave," Mr. Gold requested, leveling his stony gaze at Henry. The politeness and tolerance were long gone. Henry stared back, not so intimidated.

There was no other excuse for him to be here—he didn't have money for most of the items in this shop, anyway. Mr. Gold knew that. He nodded and turned to dash out of the store, a list of places already in his head for Emma, but Mr. Gold stopped him once more.

"Oh, and Henry…a word of advice free of charge." Henry glanced back as he shoved open the door, the bell tinkling above. Mr. Gold smirked. "Next time you wish to follow someone, make sure you have your fill of breakfast. A grumbling stomach is a dead give-away, I'm afraid."

Just for added measure, Henry's stomach grumbled. He'd only had time for a doughnut since Mr. Gold only stopped in the diner for a quick coffee at best. Mr. Gold's eyes flashed with mockery. _You see? Dead give-away. _

Turning his back, Henry left the shop and ran down the street to the diner, until he could no longer feel Mr. Gold's cold eyes burning into his back.

…

Mr. Gold watched the boy leave his shop and felt a wave of uneasiness curl through his insides. That boy was too much like his mother; that was for certain. He was too suspicious, always asking the right questions that should not be asked. His bravery was a force to be reckoned with.

The very way he had accused him of having something to do with Emma…Well, it was a straight bulls-eye, wasn't it?

It was obvious Henry hadn't believed him. Not that the boy could do much in the long run. Henry would continue searching for Emma, refusing to believe she had left him like she had ten years ago. He would search the diner, the playground, any nook and cranny where Emma could be stowed.

He would never find her.

He would simply have to make sure the boy did not follow him next time. It would not do to have little Henry bursting into the cabin to not only find Emma, but the mysteriously evasive 'Isabella French' as well. Perhaps he'd give Madame Mayor a call, have her reign in her adopted child.

Sighing, Mr. Gold made his way back around the table and through the curtain to the back room. Immediately, his eyes locked onto the old-fashioned clock on his wall. If only he had magic to make time move the littlest bit faster. It was maddening to think it had only been five minutes. Five.

Two hours. That was all he'd give Emma. Two hours and he would return to the cabin and to his precious Belle. He just hoped Jefferson the idiot hatter hadn't shot anyone yet.

…..

"I need to use the bathroom."

Emma announced it clearly and evenly despite the countless times she'd rehearsed it in her head so as to avoid pleading. It came out as a simple request, nothing suspicious. Hopefully.

Half an hour ago, she had watched Gold leave her in the eager hands of Jefferson. She doubted that sneaky, smug pawnbroker would be gone long. Just a few hours to get Regina off his back.

Since then, she'd done nothing but lounge on the couch and wrack her brain for an escape. It was so simple. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier?

"You can hold it. If not, I'm sure there's a lovely tree calling your name," Jefferson replied with an icy smile. Emma narrowed her eyes, displeased. The implication that Jefferson would be conveniently within range hung in the air.

"There is no way I'm squatting in front of a tree. Or in front of you. There has to be a bathroom in here." She shifted on the couch to study the other end of the cabin. A short hall with a bedroom currently housing Belle and a second room with the door closed. _I'll bet the nickel and penny I had in my leather jacket that the bathroom is right there. _

"I hope you enjoy company," Jefferson stated, earning back her attention. Emma's cheeks flushed with pink.

"You're obviously not a good listener. You are not coming in with me. I need privacy," she argued, not unlike an angst-ridden teenage girl.

Jefferson shrugged and stretched leisurely in his seat. The tremor rippled down his body, his arms and legs extending to reveal his full figure. The curves of his muscles were defined under his shirt, rolling smoothly under the black fabric.

Emma quickly dropped her gaze after realizing she had been staring. The heat in the apples of her cheeks burned intensely.

"Well, then…it's no deal."

Emma glared at him, but he was unrelenting. At times it seemed there was no way to break through to Jefferson. His emotions were always controlled, his dark eyes always trained on her.

She shifted her weight on the couch, crossed her legs to make it look like she was desperately trying to hold in the contents of her bladder. Her leg bounced up and down, occasionally bumping against the table. She was a jumping bean. Up, down, up, down, up, down…

"Fine! Okay," Jefferson growled impatiently, leaping to his feet. He combed a hand through his hair. "Five minutes."

"Ten minutes," Emma bartered. If there was anything Emma Swan was, it would be a handful. She figured she should be grateful that Jefferson was even cooperating, but five measly minutes wasn't going to cut it.

"Seven. Or you can go right here," he warned her. Seven minutes. Appropriate, according to him. She lifted an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Seven…and I get to use the bathroom _alone?"_ Jefferson scrutinized her for a long moment, probably wondering whether he should frisk her. As if she had anything useful on her to begin with. _If I did, would I still be here? _

Finally, he threw his hands up in surrender.

"I suppose I can trust you. Theoretically," he muttered as he approached her, grabbing her by the elbow to help her off the couch. Emma jerked away from him and waved her handcuffed wrists in his face.

"And how about you unlock these cuffs?" Jefferson gave a small chuckle. Her hopes spiraled down the tube.

"I don't trust you that much, Emma." He nudged her between the shoulder blades to get her moving. She knew the act of unlocking the handcuffs might have been a little too much to hope for. It had been worth a shot.

"Then how am I supposed to—"

"You'll figure it out," Jefferson barked back. Emma released a sigh and set her sights on the door at the end of the hall. It was without doubt that Jefferson was the one calling the shots, the one in control. For now.

The gun was trained squarely on her back, Jefferson's iron grip on her shoulder and shoving her forward. Not for the first time, Emma felt like some kind of prisoner in some kind of cell block.

Emma's eyes flickered to Belle's door as they passed it and she wondered what the girl was doing behind that door. Reading another book? Probably. Earlier she had imagined what Belle and Gold had been doing after he'd gone to her room, but too many disturbing mental images convinced her not to ask.

"Don't make me regret ditching that sedative," Jefferson murmured into her ear as she reached the bathroom door.

His breath warmed her ear, tickling it. His fingers dared to slip from her shoulder to caress her shoulder blade. If she had not been handcuffed, she would have slapped him. _Hasn't he ever heard of personal space? Or do they not teach that lesson in the world of fairies? _

"Seven minutes," he reminded her, nudging the gun into her back as she slid into the bathroom. Before she could fully close the door, she watched him get into position right outside of it. Holding her breath, Emma quietly turned the lock on the handle. _Seven minutes? Like hell. _

To her disappointment, the bathroom was most definitely Emma-proof. Gold must have gone over it with a fine-tooth comb. It was spotless in every possible meaning of the word. Matter of fact, Gold should have been patting himself on the back while she was resigned to settling on the seat of the toilet and cursing his name seven different ways.

There were no stray brushes, combs, toothbrushes in sight. There were no electrical appliances like hair dryers or curling irons. The tub was absent of any shaving razors or even a bar of soap—Gold probably imagined she would try to use it to coax off the handcuffs. And he would be right.

Inside the small mirror cabinet above the sink were two shelves, though they did not present any tricky medicines, nail filers, scissors, or even makeup brushes. Spotless. Emma-proof. Gold had thought of everything.

_There goes my spark of inspiration, right out the window, _Emma inwardly groaned. There wasn't even a window in this tight bathroom! Dejectedly, she closed the cabinet and her miserable reflection stared back, mocking her.

Reflection…

_Maybe it's not so Emma-proof after all, _she thought with a slight wisp of that good old inspiration.

A jarring knock shook her from the epiphany. Jefferson.

"Hurry up! Two minutes," he called through the door. Two minutes. It was surely enough. Emma couldn't help the smile that threatened to pull across her lips. Let Jefferson wait.

"Yeah, I'll be right out! Do you mind?" Silence on the other side. Crazy jerk was probably laughing at her for her disturbance. In a few minutes, if all went well, she would be the one laughing.

Emma spun, searching for anything she could use to smash the mirror. All she needed was a shard of it and if she attacked Jefferson first…she might have a shot. Nothing. Damn Gold and his Emma-proofing.

All she had were the clothes on her body and her fists, which she truly did not want to use except for a last resort. Still, what good would her clothes do her? And suddenly her green eyes traveled straight down to the boots that still encased her feet, which Jefferson had neglected to remove. `

Instantly, Emma knelt and went to work on the laces of her left boot. Just one would do. Another knock, this one sharper and increasingly demanding.

"I've never understood why it takes women so much time to use the bathroom," he complained loudly, his fist pounding away at the door. The laces were undone, the boot almost off…_Next time I buy shoes, I'll think like Mary Margaret and buy a simple pair of flats. _

"Maybe because it's that time of the month and there's blood everywhere! My guess is you really don't want to be the one to clean it up," she shouted back. She could practically hear Jefferson's shudder.

She slid the boot off her foot and cradled the weight of it in her palm. Perfect.

"I'll bite my tongue next time," his voice filtered through the door.

"Yeah, you should," she mumbled under her breath. If he heard, he gave no notice. Hefting the boot up, she brought her arm back and let it launch.

The glass splintered and cracked like an intricate spider-web before raining down into the sink. Shards scattered the floor, her boot discarded among them. Emma carefully dusted it free of glass and shoved it back on.

And then the knocking started, outright urgent.

"Emma!" The doorknob rattled, but the lock held. Her hands flew forward, scrambling for a thick slice of mirror. The knob twisted again and she was almost sure it would break off. "Open the door!"

Ignoring him, Emma positioned herself in the middle of the bathroom. The shard of glass shined in the light as its jagged edge pointed directly at the door. _Come on, Jefferson. That door's no match for you, right? Come and get me. I'm waiting. _

Her hands shook, but she fought to keep the shard from wavering in its aim. The edge dug into her palm, warmth trickling over her skin. She barely noticed the sting. The minute Jefferson came bursting through that door, she would be ready.

Without warning, the rattling and knocking ceased.

Emma's eyes bored into the wood of the door, waiting, waiting…

Her breath came in a heavy gasp. There was no sound of movement beyond the door. Was Jefferson standing there, breathing heavily, contemplating whether to break the door down and come in after her?

The seconds ticked by and her resolve was melting away. The shard slowly lowered until it was swinging by her side. The glass crunched under her boots as she drew close to the door. Pressing one ear to the wood, she listened for Jefferson's whereabouts. Silence.

It was a trap. He was trying to lure her out; she knew it.

How long could she stay in here? Gold would eventually come back and he would not hesitate to come through that door—gun in one hand and cane in the other. He would be more of a challenge to handle and she wasn't planning on sticking around long enough to risk it.

She needed to play by Jefferson's rules. She needed to go out there.

Taking a deep inhale of air, Emma unlocked the door and half-expected Jefferson to come pummeling through right then. All that met her was heavy silence.

Counting to ten in her head, Emma edged the door open as quietly as she could. It let out a tell-tale creak and she winced. _For a rich guy, I'm disappointed Gold doesn't keep his doors oiled. Hell, he probably did it on purpose. _

Emma made her way into the hallway, the shard retrained in front of her as she searched for her elusive target. The tables had been turned—now she was the one put on the defensive.

From here, she could glimpse the majority of the main portion of the cabin, but it was empty. The flames in the fireplace crackled on, casting no other unnecessary shadows on the walls. Where the hell was he? Lying in wait for her?

Stealthily, she passed Belle's door. For a moment, she considered poking her head inside just to make sure Jefferson wasn't hiding there. A second later, she disregarded it. She'd rather avoid startling the girl until after she scoped out the rest of the cabin.

The only other place he could be was the main room. He sure as hell wouldn't desert Belle. Was he pressed up against the wall? Waiting to attack her and disarm her the moment she appeared from the hallway?

Emma pressed forward in that direction…

And stopped when she heard the slight creak of a door behind her. Before she could even spin around, the cold nozzle of the gun was pressed firmly against the back of her head. The trigger clicked.

"Drop it," he roughly ordered, the barrel of the gun nudging her skull. Jaw clenched, the shard of glass tumbled from her fingers and broke into several tiny pieces on the floor. Belle's room. He _had _been hiding there after all. _Damn. _"It's okay, Belle. No harm done. Right, Emma?"

It was then Emma realized Belle was standing in the doorway, observing the whole exchange with her wide blue eyes. A book was clutched tightly to her chest—_Romeo and Juliet. _Sympathy danced across her porcelain skin, not the fear or suspicion Emma had been expecting.

Without a word, Jefferson hustled Emma along, away from Belle. Her boots destroyed what was left of the glass, as her hope had been dashed the minute that gun had found her head. The throbbing of her cut hand finally came through and it stung fiercely.

Jefferson didn't seem surprised by her compliancy as he gestured for her to occupy the couch. He was reveling in the control he reigned over her, appropriately defined by the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"No more bathroom breaks for you."

….

_**I'd like to thank all those that have read and reviewed my story. Here's to Anonymous Nerd Girl, mafer torres 714, Slytherlaw5298, prttykitty7728, thedoctorsgirl42, peacesista123, Sheherazade's Fable, Grace5231973, and Guest. Thank you so much everyone! **_


	24. Chapter 24

_**A/N: Two chapters in the same week. But then again I have been furiously writing for this story lately. I hope everyone likes it. Mad Swan fans, I'm sure you will. (-; **_

_**Chapter Twenty-Four**_

Emma suddenly wished Jefferson had given her that sedative.

The pain stemming from her cut palm refused to dull down. It had swelled and throbbed incessantly. It didn't help that the thumb of her other hand kept rubbing over it, becoming bloody as it pressed down over the slashed skin. The sting was brutal, but it helped her to focus on something other than Jefferson.

"Quit bothering it or you'll only make it worse," he snapped at her. Huh. She never even knew he had registered her injury, self-inflicted as it was. It wasn't like she was loudly complaining, either or jumping up and down screaming _"owie, owie, owie!" _

Concern, much?

"Why do you care if I'm hurt?" Why did he care? It had the means of giving him an advantage over her. Even so, his dark eyes gleamed with upset, as if it deeply troubled him to know she was suffering. But then, if it did trouble him, she wouldn't be held at gunpoint, would she?

"Don't move," he ordered her as he abruptly stalked past her towards the bathroom. If she couldn't have a bathroom break, then he shouldn't, either. She debated going to Belle and trying to make off with her, but there wouldn't be enough time. Besides, their last cat-and-mouse game had taken its toll on her.

His heavy steps reached her ears. Wow. He'd been gone less than ten seconds. Quite the efficient man, wasn't he?

"Come here," he demanded, coming into view once more. Tucked under his arm was a zip-lock bag, though she couldn't really see the contents from this angle. Was it another drug? Screw that.

"You told me not to move, right?" Mockery tainted her voice, her lip curling in a sneer. Jefferson rolled his eyes, unimpressed by her act of sudden obedience.

"Emma," he warned. She merely laid her bound hands in her lap, making no effort to stand. He gave in to her insolence. "Fine. I suppose I'll have to come to you. Stubborn as hell." _You know it, Jefferson. What you see is what you get. _

Charging toward her, he took a seat beside her on the couch and stowed the gun in the waistband of his pants, out of her reach unless she wanted to invade Jefferson's personal space for a change. He set the bag off to the side. Her eyebrows rose in shock—nestled inside were bandages, gauze, rubbing alcohol, the works.

"What…? How…? Where did you—" There was _no way_ he'd gotten those supplies from the bathroom. She was just in there! Was there a secret panel she didn't know about?

Jefferson snickered as she blindly motioned to the bathroom door down the hall. He unzipped the bag and emptied the contents on his lap. She was too astounded to even tamper with it.

"You never checked the toilet tank," he answered her unfinished question. Damn. Truthfully, she had considered it, but it was a little too much to hope for that something would be floating inside there. And in a plastic bag, no doubt. "For emergencies. Gold buried the rest. Hand?"

Jefferson extended his hand palm-up, asking for her own. It momentarily blind-sided her, but she found herself oddly compliant as she entrusted her hand to his. He gave it a light squeeze and then dipped a Q-tip into a brown bottle of rubbing alcohol. He lightly tapped it against the rim and then positioned it above her cut. The heavy alcoholic stench made her nose twitch.

"This is going to hurt," he warned her a second before bringing the damp end of the Q-tip down over her wound. A gasp escaped her throat as the cut burned, her foot stomping on the ground as her teeth clenched over the agonized scream that threatened to give way. "I told you it would hurt. Next time try not to cut yourself."

"Next time don't keep me locked in a cabin," she roared back. He smiled, obviously enjoying her daring. His nail traced her cut, coaxing out a small pebble of glass embedded inside. Satisfied with the cleaning, he began to tenderly wrap it in gauze for her.

It was almost…sweet.

"Thank you," she whispered as Jefferson secured the bandage around her palm. His hand cradled hers, reluctant to release her. He was so close; their hips brushing. So close…he could almost kiss her.

"My pleasure," he returned silkily. His hand was still holding onto hers, time moving slowly as he gazed into her eyes. Something was pulling them closer, Jefferson's hand lightly reaching up to caress her jaw. It was different from when Gold touched her—less demeaning, more…delicate. His lips were so close…

Wait. What the hell was she doing? This was _Jefferson. _

"Are you going to kiss it, too? Give me a lollipop for my good behavior?" The moment was shattered, just as she meant it to. Frowning, Jefferson dropped her hand and gathered the supplies.

"_What_ good behavior? You've been nothing but a royal pain in the ass ever since you came here," he thundered back at her. She reeled her head back as if he'd physically slapped her. Well, if he wanted to be that rude…

"I'm sorry if I'm such an inconvenience to you. If I'm so much trouble, why don't you just let me go? Never cross paths with me again?" Jefferson was leaping to his feet, the gun back in his hand. Nothing had changed. As a matter of fact, she was downright cursing his name right now.

"You make that sound so easy, Emma. Only problem is, trouble follows you wherever you go in this town. You're stuck with us until you change your mind about Belle, whether you like it or not. Sorry I can't grant your wish, _sweetheart,_" he retorted, his lips pulled into a tight purse.

"Call me sweetheart one more time and I'll—"

"You'll what? In case it slipped your mind, I'm the one with the gun…sweetheart," he reminded her with blatant satisfaction. Emma hated it when Jefferson was so maddening.

…

Jefferson ushered Emma into Belle's room—it was time for another meeting.

Just like with the bathroom, he stood just outside the door as a precaution. She could practically feel his presence scorching through the door. _It's not like I'm stupid enough to try it twice in one hour. It didn't work last time, did it? _

Emma clenched her fists as she reluctantly stepped further into the room. A jolt of soreness made her wince. The wound on her palm was bandaged, but it still hurt. Glancing down, she saw a thin line of red already discoloring the white gauze.

"You can take a seat on the bed, if you want," Belle politely offered. She was standing near a dusty window, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun as she tended to a vase filled with roses. How romantic. _What do you know? I never pegged Gold as the roses and chocolates type of guy. All Jefferson gives me is drugged tea. _

"No thanks. I'll stand," she replied, shifting in the middle of the room.

It was the first time she had really been in here. The room was surprisingly small, given Gold's wealth and seemingly avoidance of cramped spaces. The bed was one of those old-fashioned ones, complete with a curtain that wrapped around the frame. Books were piled on a bedside table and over the comforter.

"I noticed your escape attempt," Belle quietly said, glancing over her shoulder at Emma. _You mean my epic failure, _she thought bitterly. Was it just her or was this room stuffy?

"Can you blame me? I'm tired, I'm hungry, and need I mention that I'm being held captive by a crazy person? It's not exactly thrilling." She didn't mean to take her anger out on Belle, but there it was. To her surprise, a hint of remorse played over Belle's face.

"I know it's not," she murmured, dropping her eyes to the floorboards at her feet. Compared to the rich blue of the shirt Belle was wearing, her skin was slightly pale. A ghost of the gauntness that had marred her beauty in the photo was still there, if you looked hard enough.

It was then that Emma truly got a glimpse into Belle's dismal situation. She had never before tried to understand it due to the required chipping of her walls, crumbling this very moment. Belle was supposed to be another case, part of her job. No emotional attachments. _Damn. _

"That's how it was for you…when you were imprisoned by Regina." Belle did not answer—there was no need for it. It was crystal clear in Emma's mind, a small seed spurting into a thick, lively tree. She had personally seen Belle's cell and it was not a healthy sight by any means.

A bead of sweat rolled over Emma's eyebrow and she wiped it away. Belle was quite observant; immediately, she slid the vase aside and opened the window to let in a cool breeze. The earthy scent of the woods floated in with it.

"Did you know…I had not felt the breeze in years?" Belle tilted her head back and closed her eyes peacefully as a thin breeze kissed her thirsty skin. Emma was struck still by her words. Years? "I love being out here. It's so beautiful and open. It reminds me of a better place."

Belle's admission poured chills along Emma's veins until she could barely take her eyes from this girl who could not be older than twenty. Her voice was calm, if not a little sad. Wise beyond her years, forced to view the world as it really was: harsh. What reason did Regina have for being so cruel?

"What else has Regina done to you?"

Belle's eyes shot open as though she were amazed that Emma was abruptly taking an interest. A low sigh drifted from her lips as she fully turned toward Emma. Belle peeled the sleeves of her shirt back, reminding Emma of the crude scars on her arms. Burned and shiny pink. What the hell did Regina use; a poker from a fireplace?

"There's more," Belle whispered, her voice barely audible above the wind. Turning back to the window, she lifted her shirt to her neck. Emma's jaw must have hit the floor from the shock she received.

The scars on Belle's arms were paper-cuts compared to the grueling, jagged grooves burned into her back. Long lines of scars stretching from just below Belle's neck and ending just above her waist. Some crisscrossed; scars over scars only broken upon dipping under the white strap of her bra. Red, angry, horrific.

Before she realized what she was doing, Emma's fingers were brushing along a scar that traveled straight down Belle's spine. Belle gasped and shivered, the tremor making the scars ripple abnormally. It was sickening to look at, only because it staked a claim on the level of Regina's insanity. _That bitch. _

Belle lowered her shirt and turned back to Emma, her expression pained.

"Kathryn Nolan," she said, blue eyes glazing over with a memory. Emma's heart sped up in tempo. Of all the people Belle could have mentioned, she never expected Kathryn to be one of them. It only unnerved her even more.

"What about her?" Belle bit down on her lower lip, obviously debating whether to open up to Emma. She was doing a good job so far, wasn't she? It was still a mystery as to how Belle even knew Kathryn in the first place. The alarms screeched in her head and she didn't dare even breathe.

"She was supposed to be Regina's friend," Belle insisted with a rush of color to her cheeks. Emma snorted. Friend? Yeah, right. That was worth a laugh.

"Regina doesn't have friends. She has pawns," she retorted through gritted teeth. Emma was sure Regina didn't even know the meaning of the word _friendship. _Too often she confused it with _alliance. _Belle did not argue the point.

"Regina locked Kathryn away in that hospital, same as me. Her cell was across the hall from mine," she explained. That made Emma pause. Kathryn's memory was fuzzy—she'd only been able to recall a dark place. What if the dark place had been the confines of a cell? It wasn't implausible. _What, does the woman station her own little zoo down there? _

"And?" That wasn't the end of the story, not by a long shot.

Belle's face contorted with resentment and misery, though it wasn't directed at Emma. It was more likely reserved for Regina. After seeing those scars, Emma couldn't blame her. The breeze prickled her skin as she anticipated Belle's next words.

"Kathryn…one night she told me that Regina had hurt her. She told me Regina ripped out her heart." Emma drew the line there. _Here we go again with the heart-ripping thing. What is in that tea? _

"Belle, I agree that Regina is cruel and insane. But I doubt she managed to rip someone's heart out. Kathryn is alive. Don't you get it? It's not possible!" Emma raked her fingers through her matted blonde hair, hoping that Belle would see reason. This cabin was quickly transforming into a funhouse.

"Emma, you weren't there. I found a way to open the slot in my cell door. I watched Regina follow inside Kathryn's cell. The way Kathryn screamed..." Belle's expression became haunted. Emma guessed she was reliving those screams now.

At the same time, they rang inside her own head from the time Dr. Whale had insisted on doing an EKG on Kathryn. Big mistake. Never had she witnessed raw panic as she did then—the doctors had been forced to sedate Kathryn just to get her to stop screaming on the top of her lungs. Emma could still hear it, blood-curdling and fearful. _Please, God! Don't do this to me! Don't let her do this! Where is it? Where's my heart? _

That same pleading whimper was shining in Belle's eyes. It was the unabated fear of a harmless animal—the solemn wide-eyed look of a deer at the moment it realized it was about to be shot and killed.

"Please…I'm so much happier than I've been in so long. Please don't let her do it again."

It was too much for Emma to consume. Belle was actually throwing caution to the winds and expecting her to swoop in and save the day for her. The way Belle's eyes became puppy-like and the pleas fell from her lips, it reminded her of Henry when he'd begged her to stay in Storybrooke once upon a time.

"I'm sorry," Emma muttered before whirling and slipping from the room, right into Jefferson's waiting care. Everyone wanted her to help them. How could she when she could barely help herself?

….

Emma had never appreciated Belle's habit of reading so much as when she unintentionally picked up a detail that Jefferson had missed. Her eyes had roamed over it for a long time before the significance dawned on her.

There was a book on the table. Just sitting there; left by Belle before she had retired to her room. There wasn't supposed to be anything on the table—it was meant to be Emma-proof. Miraculously, both Gold and Jefferson had overlooked it.

Of course there would be books lying about in this cabin. Why not? Belle loved to read, after all. Why take it away from her? And what harm could a simple book do, really? Upon closer inspection, Emma realized it was the volume of Grimm fairy tales. Ironic.

"The fire went out," she alerted Jefferson, pointing to the smoldering remains in the fireplace. A light draft invaded the cabin. Even so, his expression was serene, his body language relaxed and telling her that he just did not care.

Just for effect, she shivered a little. It wasn't that hard; the handcuffs encircling her wrists were icy cold.

"A little chill won't kill you," he responded flatly. The shivering increased and she allowed her head to loll forward like a rag doll. A moan rose from her throat. Why was she even trying? Jefferson probably didn't trust her or care after that bathroom incident.

A sharp scrape hurt her ears. Jefferson was getting to his feet.

"Emma?" His voice was no longer emotionless. It was tinted with the faintest concern. Good. Her head continued to rock and she weakly raised her hands to the back of her skull.

"My head…" She tried to put as much agony into it as possible. Truth be told, the intense throbbing from Gold's cane had subsided hours ago, but she could still recall the red-hot pulsing. To her disturbance, there was something akin to a deep chuckle.

"Try being hit over the head with a telescope. Stings, doesn't it?" He wasn't offering her any sympathy, was he? Oh, how the tables were turned. "If you wanted me to start another fire, you could have asked nicely."

Jefferson's footsteps drifted to the fireplace and she realized he was doing it, anyway. Snapping her head up, she noticed Jefferson was kneeling by the fireplace, urging the flames to burn. The gun was still trained on her, but his back was momentarily turned.

Emma jumped up and snatched the book from the table. By the time Jefferson's head whipped around, Emma had skirted around the table in his direction. The book resounded in a sharp _crack _as she smashed the book across his jaw.

Jefferson's body flew one way, the gun the other. It slid across the floorboards, coming to rest near the foot of the table. It was gold, in Emma's eyes. _Bingo. _

Dropping the book, Emma lunged for the gun. An iron grip pulled her feet out from under her as she dived. Her side smacked against the floor, sending a wave of raw pain all the way to her toes. She was sure her teeth rattled inside her mouth.

Recovered, Jefferson struggled with her legs, dragging her body away from the gun. Emma extended her hands for it, but her fingertips only grazed it. Under his hands, her body was rotated until she was staring up at him.

His eyes were wild with darkness. Blocking her attempts to shove him away, he straddled her and pinned her hand-cuffed wrists above her head. Jefferson's body quaked above hers as he drew in heavy breaths. It unnerved her to register the excited smile hanging on his lips.

"We've done this before, Emma, and we can do it again. Except this time, your mother isn't here to help you. It's just you…and me," he taunted, putting pressure on her wrists until her jaw clenched. His head bent closer until she could almost feel his warm breath on her skin. "Maddening, isn't it? How conveniently history repeats itself."

One of her legs loosened underneath him, though he was too caught up in his close proximity to notice. In one quick move, her knee drove upwards and hit Jefferson where it really hurt.

Dark eyes bulging, the air whooshed out of his lungs as he rolled off her. _Maddening, isn't it, Jefferson? _Emma scooped up the gun. It was her turn to call the shots.

"Stand up. Now!" Emma aimed the gun at Jefferson, whose face was slick with cold sweat. Weakly, he stumbled to his feet despite the discomfort between his legs. Humoring her, he raised his palms in surrender.

"Take it easy, Emma," he advised her. She gripped the gun firmly in her hands—s_he _was in control now. Not him.

"Where's the key?" Jefferson chose defiant silence, his lips flattening. Did he think she was joking? Squeezing the trigger, Emma shot off a bullet inches from Jefferson's foot, leaving a hole in the floorboards. Jefferson gave a small yelp and jumped aside. "That was a warning. Just to make it clear, I know exactly where to hit so it doesn't instantly kill you. You'll slowly bleed out and suffer."

"I'm sure you do," he humbly agreed. "Let's not try anything mad, shall we?" Slowly, his hand dipped inside his vest and retrieved a key, jingling it in the air. It landed near her foot and she cautiously knelt to grab it, the gun never faltering from its target.

The click of the handcuffs as they released her wrists was music to her ears.

"You'll be the one going mad when you're sitting in a jail cell," she retorted. Always arrogant, Jefferson smirked.

"Maybe we could share one. It must be a crime not to acknowledge who you really are, Emma. To purposefully close your mind to everything around you, including your mother." Those piercing dark eyes glared at her. "You know, you are just as horrible as the Queen. For every day you refuse to believe, these people—your mother, my daughter—they all suffer with miserable lives! They're suffering because of you!"

His body shook with his white-hot rage. Jefferson's voice rose until he was shouting at her, desperate to make her _see. _It was sending her over the edge with frustration.

"Oh, knock it off! I'm no savior! Suffering is a fact of life. You're the one who's mad if you honestly think everything ends in happily ever after. Want to know how this story ends? You'll be in a jail cell, alone. No tea parties. No hats. No Grace."

"None of this."

Swooping close, Jefferson abruptly brought his hands to her face. His lips crashed against hers, freezing her in place with a kiss. His mouth was warm and hard as it pressed against hers. Before she knew it, her arms were circling his neck and she was returning his kiss with full force.

"That's it, Emma. Open your mind," he murmured across her lips as her fingers traced the edge of the scarf tied at his throat. Slipping just beneath, to stroke his scar. Moaning, his arm slid around her waist to pull her closer…

_What am I doing? _Logic thundered back into her head as realized the full implication of what was going on. _She _was kissing _Jefferson. _Eyes widening, she brought the butt of the gun down onto his head. Jefferson ambled back, rubbing the spot where he'd been hit.

"Why must you always hit me over the head with something?" Emma wasn't listening—she was darting around him and making a beeline for the cabin door. Belle would be somewhere outside, reading under a tree. It was time to go.

Halfway there, the cabin door opened, but it wasn't Belle standing there; at least not alone. A few feet away stood Gold, returned from his shop. Stalling, she backed up to keep both Jefferson and Gold in sight. The gun shifted between both of them before choosing Gold, whose expression was surprisingly controlled. If he was impressed by Emma's progress, he didn't show it.

"Well, well. It seems Miss Swan truly is more resourceful than we give her credit for," he surmised, edging into the cabin. Belle was behind him, watching the exchange over his shoulder. Jefferson snickered. The smug bastard.

"Which one of us will you shoot, Emma? The answer? You won't be shooting anyone. I don't think you ever intended to shoot," he scoffed. Emma deliberately turned the gun on him, aiming at his chest. _Wanna bet? _

"Oh, yeah? You have no idea what I am capable of. You're not the one with the bad leg, either. Maybe I can fix that," she threatened, lowering the gun toward his leg. Jefferson wasn't perturbed; he actually laughed.

"You wouldn't dare." Abruptly, Emma shot off another bullet past his leg. That was two wasted. Soon there would be no excuse for warnings.

"Try me," she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye, Gold was setting his cane against the wall and inching forward. She swiveled the gun in his direction, a mistake. "Stop moving or you'll have two bad legs!"

Too late she realized what she'd done.

Jefferson took the advantage and closed in on her. His hand encircled her wrist, struggling with her for the gun. A bullet accidentally fired into the floor. He wrenched the gun from her hands, tossed it away. Gripping her arms, spinning her, pinning them behind her back. This was worse than the handcuffs.

Her heart raced with adrenaline as Gold smiled menacingly, his soft steps bringing him closer to her. He was like a vulture, plunging down over his prey. Emma struggled, but Jefferson held her fast and close to his body.

"Oh, Emma. Such noble efforts," he murmured, each step bringing him closer. Now he was only a foot or so from her, his brown eyes burning into hers. She could tell he enjoyed her discomfort as he brought his hand up to grasp her chin. Jefferson's fingers dug into her arm. Was he jealous of Gold's touch on her? "Our brave…little…swan."

Emma jerked her head back from his hand and in the next instant tried to bite it. Gold's reflexes were sharp as he reeled his hand away, her teeth snapping over empty air. A low _tsk-tsk _and his leer was firmly back in place. She hated it.

"So feisty. See, that is what I like about you, Emma. That_ fire_." Her throat burned with hatred for him and she would have loved to have bitten a chunk out of his hand. Give him something to really be smug about when Whale was sewing his stitches.

There was sudden heat on the lobe of her ear—Jefferson's lips hovered there.

"We all know the truth, Emma. Resist all you want. All fires burn out sometime," he whispered, his grip tightening on her arms. Any closer and his lips would touch her skin. She recalled the way he'd kissed her only moments ago and she blushed.

A sharp click interrupted their little circle and all three heads glanced in one direction. What neither of them noticed was that Belle had moved from the doorway. Standing next to the couch, gun in hand.

"Let her go," the brunette demanded. She leveled the gun at Jefferson, but it was no use. Jefferson had shifted and—whether it was intentional or not—used Emma's body as a shield. If Belle fired the gun, chances were great that it would hit Emma instead. So she switched her target to Gold, causing Emma's eyebrows to rise in shock. Would Belle really shoot the person she claimed to love?

"This is some kind of weapon, isn't it? All I have to do is pull this trigger, am I right?" Gold's body grew stiff as he watched Belle's finger curl around the trigger.

"That's the gist of it, though I wouldn't recommend it," Emma muttered. The grip on her arms increased until her knees bent and she moaned.

"Belle, just put the gun down. You don't want to hurt anyone," Jefferson reasoned with her.

At first glance, Belle was acting purely insane, a dangerous threat with the means of a loaded gun. And then Emma recognized the shrill brilliance in the depths of those blue eyes. Archie's words crawled back to her, heavy with truth.

_You want to know what I think? I think Isabella French is no more mentally incapacitated than the rest of us. Capable of coherent thought…I think Isabella French knew exactly what she was doing. _

It hit Emma like a ton of bricks as she practically watched the wheels turn in Belle's head. _She's protecting me. Defending me. _

"Let her go," Belle repeated more forcefully. It was a thick, tense moment before Jefferson obliged. He removed his hands from Emma's arms, which were aching from his grip. For all accounts and purposes, Belle may have just saved Emma from a gruesome situation.

Satisfied, Belle laid the gun down on the table as Emma nodded her thanks. Just as quickly, Gold snatched it up—probably in case Emma started getting any crazy ideas of her own. _I think I liked it better when Belle was waving the gun around. _

Unfortunately, it only made Belle angrier.

"If she doesn't want to believe, then she doesn't have to!" Emma's stomach took a nosedive for the worse. Did Belle actually take stock in Jefferson's theory, too? Jefferson raced toward her with annoyance flashing in his eyes.

"Yes, she does! She is the savior, Belle! It's her job to break this curse!" Emma winced as he more or less stacked the responsibility on her shoulders. _My job? In that case, I might as well get paid for it. God knows I owe Mary Margaret some money for rent, anyway. _

Belle, however, did not flinch as she stared Jefferson down.

"No one can decide her fate but her. Anything else would be wrong," she argued. Belle glanced at Gold, but he averted his gaze. He never did like it when things didn't go according to plan. "I meant what I said. Let her go. Imprisoning her here is just as cruel as when Regina imprisoned me. And you know it."

Gold's breathing quickened as he exchanged a wary look with Jefferson. Emma kept her guard up, just in case one of them tried to hold her down again.

Finally, Gold sighed and turned to her. Was he about to ignore Belle's pleas? Stick her with another syringe full of that muscle-melding drug? The answer was C: none of the above.

"I'll make a deal with you, Emma. You're free to leave…if you agree to a few conditions. You agree not to arrest either of us," he motioned between himself and Jefferson, ticking the items off his slender fingers. This was far from what she expected. "You refrain from bothering Belle again. And you do not breathe a word of what has occurred in this cabin. Do we have a deal?"

Gold extended a hand to her, daring her to take it. All eyes were on her, especially Belle's curious ones. Brilliant Belle, whose only desire was to refresh her mind with books. Taking this deal would mean keeping her out of Regina's hands, but was she really better off with someone like Gold?

And then there was Henry. The kid was probably wondering where she was. Refusing would force Gold to keep her holed up in this cabin, away from her son. It almost made her heart ache with missing him. All she had to do was accept Gold's terms.

"Alright. Deal," she agreed, though she did not shake Gold's hand. She didn't want to touch him by any means. Instead, she glided past him and started for the cabin door. Free to go in return for her silence. The only time she paused was to glance back at Belle. "By the way…I don't think you belong in that hospital, either."

And then she stepped through the door to the outside world. Away from Gold, away from Jefferson and that searing kiss that plagued her mind. Emma gladly embraced her freedom and never once looked back.

…..

_**Well, there you go. *music* And at last Emma sees the light!*end music* Sorry. Couldn't resist. **_

_**I want to thank all those that reviewed—your comments were awesome as always and make me smile every time I read them! So thank you to prttykitty7728, Romance and Musicals (loved your long review!), thedoctorsgirl42, rene10, Bluecanbegreen, Z, megumisakura, Sheherazade's Fable, lilylulurose, Anonymous Nerd Girl, and Guest. **_


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N: It took me a little bit to come up with the idea for this chapter. But I hope you all enjoy it. (-; The Once Season One DVD gave me a little inspiration as well. **_

_**Chapter Twenty-Five**_

_She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not…_

Belle found him in the bedroom, plucking the petals off the roses. Each petal was tossed out the window as Jefferson's mood plummeted into a swirling dark spiral. If Rumpelstiltskin caught him ruining the roses, Jefferson would surely get the cane.

"You know, in Wonderland the Queen of Hearts always had her roses painted red," he muttered without glancing up at her. He knew she was there and watching.

"How do you paint a rose red?" Belle's smile glowed for him as she occupied the spot beside him, resting her elbows on the windowsill. Outside, the woods were eternally quiet. The cabin had settled down now that Emma was no longer in their company.

"Not sure. It's not exactly a hobby of mine. The Queen never did like white roses." Another petal plucked. Belle watched it as the wind carried it off.

"You don't seem to like _red_ roses," she pointed out, gently rescuing the rose from Jefferson's steel grip. Only three petals were left, the stem drooping miserably. Poor thing.

Jefferson gazed off into the woods, but she knew his mind was elsewhere.

"About Emma—" Jefferson's palm slapped against the windowsill, halting her words. An air of sadness swarmed him, making his jaw clench tightly and his dark eyes pool with misery.

"I'm an idiot. Emma will never open her mind. I should have known…" His words trailed off and Belle tilted her head curiously. Should have known what? Should have known that Emma could never….love him? _He's heartbroken, _she realized with a soft gasp.

"Listen…if it's meant to be, then it will be. But it doesn't mean you still can't fight for it," she sincerely assured him. Jefferson was a friend; she didn't like to see him depressed and hurt.

"And I suppose you are the expert on true love?" His voice was hard, yet emotionless. His gaze never locked with hers, he only saw the woods and the distance beyond it. Belle reached out to rest a calm hand over his own.

"No, I am far from an expert. Honestly, I'm still trying to figure it out myself. All I know is that…love is layered. Sometimes it can be difficult to hold onto. Once it's gone, who knows how long it will be before it returns?"

Jefferson shifted his head to look down at her wondrously. She smiled and clasped his hand warmly.

"If you truly love Emma, then tell her! Find her and tell her how you really feel." Jefferson's eyes gleamed with renewed life and hope as her words sunk in. All she wanted was for him to be happy. Then Jefferson frowned with thought.

"Are you happy? With him?"

Jefferson's eyes trailed across the room to the bedroom door. Beyond it, in the main room, Rumpelstiltskin would likely be waiting. Knowing him, he would be curious enough to listen in.

"Yes," she answered automatically. It made her heart swell with emotion until she could hardly breathe. "I love him. I remember the days before he…sent me away from his castle. He was nothing but kind to me."

Belle's attention was focused on the rose, her dreamy eyes reminiscing about a happier time. She never noticed Jefferson's grim change in behavior.

"Kind?" The harshness of the word was lost on her as she only nodded. Oh, there was that day when he gave her the rose and the time he caught her in his arms…Jefferson's dry chuckle shook her free of the memories. "He never told you."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement—simple fact. Belle felt a chill skate across the scars of her back.

"Tell me what?" Jefferson's lips descended into an anxious line, his body stiffening like a statue. He was debating whether to tell her at all. Belle gripped his arm with a silent, pleading message: _Please. _Jefferson rubbed his jaw and swore under his breath. Whatever it was, it was not good.

"After I returned to Wonderland, I saw the memory in a looking glass. I was thinking of you." A rosy blush clouded her cheeks, but her eyes still questioned. "Belle, why do you think your fiancé went missing?"

Belle's heart fluttered before it stopped completely. The smile slipped from her lips as she realized Jefferson was being serious.

Gaston went missing? While she was staying in Rumpelstiltskin's castle? Or here in Storybrooke? But she could read it in Jefferson's face and she knew it had nothing to do with this small, provincial town.

"Maybe I'll take your advice. But as I said, you're not really an expert on true love, Belle. No one is."

Jefferson stalked past her to the bedroom door. A minute later she heard his boots pause in the main room. Was Rumpelstiltskin there? Would Jefferson dare to say something? But, no: there was the opening and closing of the cabin door.

Call it instinct, but Belle did not think Jefferson was simply venturing out to get more firewood. As a matter of fact, she didn't think he would be returning, either.

_Goodbye, Jefferson. _Another red petal fluttered to the ground.

…..

Emma stumbled through the door and immediately dropped her leather jacket off to the side. She was tired, she was sore, and all she wanted to do was drink away the memory of the last twenty-four hours. Especially if it meant dealing with Madame Mayor about her job inconsistencies.

Too bad Mary Margaret was blocking the path to the fridge. Emma had never seen Mary Margaret more than upset, but tonight…the only way to describe it was flat-out _pissed off. _

"Oh. Thought you'd left," she coldly remarked. Emma was fairly certain the room temperature just dropped ten degrees. She had no strength left to deal with a fight—hell, she'd been fighting all night, after all.

"Mary Margaret—" Her roommate slammed the cup she was holding down on the table. A slew of cocoa splattered the tabletop.

"Where were you? Henry was worried sick about you. We thought you left town."

No answer. Emma would violate the deal she made with Gold if she explained. _You do not breathe a word of what has occurred in this cabin. _Mary Margaret shook her head pitifully.

"Do you remember what you told me? You said we have to stick together. That we're like _family."_

Each word pierced Emma's lungs, her breath failing her. Heat coursed along her neck, only growing hotter with the skipping track in her mind warning her that an explanation was out of the question. _Damn you, Gold._

"I can't tell you where I've been…but I didn't leave town," she protested. The keys were still clutched in her hand—they began digging into her palm. Mary Margaret's eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

"Oh, well _that's _a relief, Emma. It's good to know you were _somewhere. _What about Henry?" Mary Margaret's green eyes bored into her, but Emma forced herself not to break her gaze. Oh, she was cursing Gold's name ten times over.

"If leaving would be better for him, I would do it in a heartbeat," she murmured. It was true. If for a second she thought Henry would be better off without her, she'd already be in her Bug. Painful as it was, she only wanted the best for him.

"So after all this time of fighting for him, you would just give up? Leave him lonely and depressed, heartbroken in Regina's care? Because that's a better, stable home for him?" It squeezed Emma's heart because she knew that staying with Regina would not give him his best shot. Mary Margaret's glare verified that. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

This time, Emma did avert her gaze to the floorboards because she just could not answer that question. In a minute, she was convinced Mary Margaret would actually ground her and send her to her room.

So Emma beat her to the punch. She even slammed her door for full effect.

…..

It was a half hour before Belle emerged from the bedroom. A half hour filled with pacing and restless questioning over what Jefferson had said.

Rumpelstiltskin's back was facing her, kneeling as he stoked the flames of the fire. He was using the cane for support, but she could still see the strain in his muscles. Part of her kept forgetting that he was but an ordinary man in this world—sometimes she expected to see that gold-skinned creature he had once been.

Soundlessly, Belle crossed to the window and edged it open, if only to announce her presence. A cool breeze whispered in, lifting her hair from her shoulders. She could feel his eyes watching her, though he did not speak. He would wait for her.

The breeze calmed her nerves. A dove swooped down and settled on the windowsill next to her arm, cooing as she drew her hand away in surprise. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as she studied it, so delicate and white…with two odd patches of black spotting its eyes.

"Is that…the same dove that brought news of the war?" There was a grunt and then the distinct hollow tapping of the cane as he approached her. Miraculously, the dove stayed as his hand reached out to stroke its feathers.

"Ah, yes. One and the same. Quite the adventure-seeker," Rumpelstiltskin said before lowering his hand to his side. Belle smiled as the bird cocked its head at her. It was as if it, too, were revisiting an old memory.

"It was brought to this world, too," she whispered in awe.

There was a shift of clothing and the heat between them intensified as he moved closer without really touching her. A hint of his cologne tickled her nose and she savored the smell—it was part of him, after all.

"Indeed," he sighed. "The same dove, I believe, that triggered your first…escape attempt." Belle's smile dipped a little as the memory resurfaced from the depths of her awakened mind.

The dining room…Rumpelstiltskin's golden hands unfurling the small scroll of parchment to announce the end of the third Ogre War…running through the door while his back was turned only to somehow fall right back into the dining room. It was hardly an escape because escape from this man was impossible.

"My _only _escape attempt," she corrected, turning to him at last. "After that, you let me go, remember?" The corners of his mouth lifted. One of his hands reached out to tuck a piece of her fallen hair behind her ear.

"Yes…and then you came back," he recounted. A first and final kiss before the end of their happiness in that world. And she _was _happy with him. That unspoken question nudged her mind, delving under her skin. Jefferson had to be misunderstood.

"Gaston must have made it to this world too, am I right?"

Belle glanced up at his face from under her eyelashes. Lines etched into his forehead and made his brown eyes seem worn. Oh, how she wanted him to tell her yes—her once-ago fiancé was here, living a hazy existence.

Rumpelstiltskin was still for a long time. His face was placid now, but his brown eyes avoided anything but the cabin door. Was he considering running from the question? That alone spoke volumes.

"I believe…he is one of the countless millions suffering here," he vaguely responded. To another being, it would surely be an affirmative. To her, it was a play on words spoken with a sharp tongue. It could mean anything.

"Because of Regina? Or…because of you?" The accusation pained her heart, even more so when Rumpelstiltskin did not offer an answer. Belle shook her head, refusing to believe it. "What did you…?"

It hit her like a brick wall. The rose. Jefferson had been plucking the petals off roses, had stared pointedly at the withering rose in her hand…Rumpelstiltskin bowing elegantly as he offered her—

"The rose," she whispered with frightening realization. Even now, his attention was focused elsewhere and not on her. If anything, it only solidified the truth. "You told me it was a beggar woman selling roses." Rumpelstiltskin's tongue darted out to lick his lips, but words were missing. He was not denying her accusations, but he did not dare confirm them, either. "It was Gaston, wasn't it?"

"In my account, the fool was aiming a sword at my heart. In this world, it is known as self-defense." There. The truth was known.

Belle's lips parted and she struggled for even a strand of coherent thought. Even worse was the fact that her imagination was providing the image of Gaston disappearing into a cloud of magic and coming out as a delicate rose.

"Self-defense? A sword cannot kill you, Rumpelstiltskin. Your solution was to turn him into a rose?" Dusty brown hair cascaded across his face, shielding his eyes from her. Dark brown eyes burning a hole into the floor.

"My other option was to transform him into a snail and crush him, but that would have left a nasty stain on my carpet. You'd have had to bend over for hours scrubbing it out." A thin chuckle rose from his throat as if he just found a bit of humor there. "I was doing you a favor."

Belle's mouth fell open in a most un-lady-like way. Could her ears be deceiving her? Or was she truly listening to him justifying the act of doing away with Gaston? In his eyes, it would have seemed as if he had done nothing wrong—Gaston was the enemy.

"A favor? Oh, gods…I snipped it! While I was telling you my story, I _snipped_ the _rose!_ Does that mean…are his…" Belle glanced down at her lower body and paled. In her mind, she felt the heaviness of those shears and heard the metallic sound of the blades as an inch of the rose was cut.

"He's better off without them," Rumpelstiltskin quipped.

He found this amusing. He honestly thought this scenario something to giggle about. Belle's heart thudded in her chest as she tried desperately to wrap her head around it.

"You broke your deal," she whispered. Instantly, the amusement vanished from his face as she dared question the sanctity of his word. "You promised that no one in my village would be harmed. That included Gaston."

Rumpelstiltskin loomed over her, his expression darkening. One of his slender fingers pressed against Belle's lips, silencing her off. Their bodies were only an inch apart now—he was so close, she could feel his warm breath on her skin.

"First, dearie….I never break my word. I've only ever broken one deal and that was centuries ago." Belle briefly wanted to ask what deal that was, but a second finger joined the first against her lips. "Second, your negotiation implied that everyone in your little village would _live. _Gaston was very much alive, just in a different form than he was comfortable with. You were the one holding the scissors, Belle. Not me." One of his fingers traced the upper curve of her lip and it sent a tingling sensation to her toes. "I never break my deals."

Belle thought about arguing it further, but what was the point? What occurred with Gaston had been a loophole; the deal had never been compromised. Despite her fiancé's newly transformed state, she had still belonged to him. Forever.

Gently, Belle caught his fingers in her own, her thumb rubbing over his skin. His brown eyes watched her intently as she lifted them to her lips again and laid butterfly kisses over the pads of his fingers.

"You never break your deals, Rumpelstiltskin. Except for the time you decided to release me."

Ah, the root of the problem, then. Belle had severely hoped that the incident with Gaston had destroyed their contract. That way, everything between them afterwards would have been meaningful beyond words; she would not have been his prisoner. The heartache she suffered would have been less due to the sense that she might not have belonged to him in that cell as he ordered her to go.

But, no. The deal had never been broken. Belle had been his…until he'd decided otherwise.

"Belle," he murmured as he slipped his hands from her grasp and stroked the rich strands of her hair. "It was a mistake. I will not let anything happen to you again." His arm wrapped around her waist and he held her close. She buried her face in his shoulder and soaked in his warmth.

"Do I have your word, Rumpelstiltskin?" His arms tightened around her hips in response. A light kiss on the crown of her head.

"You have my word."

….

_**Just a fun fact: the idea of the escape attempt and the dove came from a Skin Deep commentary on the DVD. It was a commentary by Robert Carlyle and Jane Espenson (the writer) where they mentioned a cut scene where news arrived at his castle about the end of the Ogre War and Belle then attempted to escape once she knew that her village was safe. I found it pretty interesting, so I decided to add it in. **_

_**Thanks are in order for my lovely reviewers! Here's to: prttykitty7728, peacesista123, rene10, Sheherazade's Fable, discotimelord, Bluecanbegreen, thedoctorsgirl42, Grace5231973, White Shade (yes, I read that story before—it is definitely well-written), Romance and Musicals, writindownsouth, and megumisakura. **_

_**Thank you all for the support! **_


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: Hello, readers! This is mostly a nice filler chapter, but I hope you'll still enjoy it. If it's any consideration, it's also a long filler chapter. **_

_**Chapter Twenty-Six**_

"So, how shall we do this?"

Rumpelstiltskin stood on one side of the king-sized bed. He stared down at it as if he were scrutinizing a particularly complex game of chess. Belle had asked him to stay with her tonight—she just never expected him to be so hesitant.

"We could…lie down," she suggested with a silvery laugh.

She rather enjoyed watching Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous dealmaker, mull over such a simple tender task as sharing a bed. It reminded her how human he truly was, a man able to be perplexed.

Belle figured she'd present an example and slid under the covers on the side closest to the window. Still, he did not follow her lead, even when she patted the spot beside her as a hint. Already dressed in his expensive black pajamas, he glanced at the door uncertainly.

"Belle, we don't have to…if you wish, I'm perfectly capable of sleeping on the couch," he insisted. Belle drew her knees up to her chest and leveled her wide blue eyes at him. Instantly, his face seemed to soften.

"You may be," she agreed. "But that's not what I wish." Belle smoothed her palm along the crisp sheets, all the while never taking her eyes from him. Doubt clouded his face. "Besides, the couch will do your leg no good."

"My leg can survive one night on the couch for you," he reasoned. It made her stomach flutter to know that he would so willingly endure such discomfort in her name. After all, he'd been suffering for the past twenty-eight years.

He started to turn away toward the door. Belle immediately crawled across the top of the bed to catch his hand. He gazed at her in wonder.

"Please," she pleaded, tugging a little on his sleeve. He tried to pull his arm away, but she held on fast. "Come here," she demanded a little more firmly.

The anxiety on his face claimed he was debating whether to insist on the couch or give in to her want. His hand absent-mindedly traveled to his leg, his mind envisioning the ache that would result from even an hour on that couch. Inevitably, his desire of her satisfaction won out.

Groaning, he lowered his body onto the bed.

"Just a warning, dearie. I tend to hog the blanket." Belle scooted over so he could settle under the covers. At the moment, they both lay on their backs, gazing up at the cabin's expansive ceiling. Underneath the sheets, the warmth of his body tempted her to draw closer.

"That's alright. I don't mind sharing," she replied with a genuine smile.

The peaceful sounds of the woods flowed in through the window. The rustle of the trees, the whisper of the wind, the occasional scratching of some night-time creature wandering. It lulled her into a serene state on the verge of sleep. Belle rolled onto her side to face the window and she could just catch a glimpse of the star-studded sky.

It was too quiet between them. Belle curled her arm around her pillow and buried her face in its soft, marshmallow-white form, seeking sleep. She was inches away, teetering on the very precipice, but failing to fall into that open abyss.

She knew he was wide awake, perhaps afraid to shift even an inch in case he bothered her. Silly man.

Belle checked over her shoulder and—sure enough—his brown eyes were trained on the ceiling, lost in thought. Was he afraid to draw closer to her? Afraid to touch her or find comfort in her presence? But why? Did he really fear that he would hurt her so much?

Determined to prove him wrong, Belle grasped his hand and guided it to her hip. A jolt of surprise riveted through his body as his fingers made contact with the warmth of her skin emanating through her nightgown. His hand began to tremble and she held onto it in case he decided to move from such close proximity.

"Belle, I—" She squeezed his hand.

"Relax. You won't hurt me. I promise," she said as she slowly released his hand. Unexpectedly, he kept it there, resting on her hip. Closing her eyes, she waited to see what he would do.

Ever so gently, almost experimentally, his hand slid across her hip and down to her belly. His arm wrapped around her waist, though she could tell he was holding back from what he truly wanted to do. His muscles stiffened, as if realizing he made a fatal mistake.

"Belle…is this okay?" She imagined the torrent of distress marring his handsome features. Glancing over at him, she found she was right. She smiled to ease his mind.

"No," she answered softly. Immediately, he began to unfurl his arm from her belly, but she insistently held it there. "It's perfect," she admitted.

The anxiety escaped his tired face and he carefully readjusted his arm around her body. The mattress groaned as he dared to cuddle with her, his body fitting flawlessly against hers. Perfect in every way.

Lightly, his lips found her cheek and he chastely kissed her skin. It sent a tingling sensation along every one of Belle's nerves. She tilted her head back onto his chest and sighed with bliss.

"I do love you," he whispered into her ear. Belle met his rich brown eyes and suddenly noticed how deeply beautiful they were compared to the unnatural golden orbs they had been so long ago. Her fingers brushed the hair back from his face, a delicate caress.

"Yes…and I love you, too," she whispered back.

Relief draped over him as he bent his head to offer her a real kiss. His lips met hers and Belle did not know any better feeling in the world. It was a soft, modest kiss—the kind that did not demand more, but left her smiling all the same. True love's kiss.

"Goodnight, Rumpelstiltskin." He placed a kiss on the crown of her head, burying his lips in her dark hair.

"Goodnight, Belle. My love." And she fell asleep in the security of his embrace.

….

The streams of early morning sunlight stirred Belle from a dreamless sleep. It glowed a pale golden, drifting across the covers in warm slats. The roses on the windowsill—the ones Jefferson had not plucked—seemed to bloom in greeting for her.

Stretching leisurely, Belle rolled over in search of an inviting pair of brown eyes…but the spot beside her was vacant. She hadn't even noticed him leave.

The covers were tossed back, the pillow still indented from the weight of his head. He'd only awoken recently, then. She began to wonder where he'd gone when her eyes caught a thin slip of paper on the mattress. A note, written in his elegantly scrawling hand.

_My dearest Belle, _

_I hope I haven't disturbed you from your sleep. I thought it'd be best to let you rest. Come to the kitchen when you're ready. I have something to show you. _

_-R_

Belle re-read the note, the sound of his voice linked with the words in her mind. She threw the note down on the bedside table and was already halfway to the bedroom door when she remembered she was still clad in her nightgown. Quickly, she changed into a breezy blue sundress that Rumpelstiltskin had left for her in the corner.

As she tied the silk sash in back, she secretly wished he would not go out of his way for such fine materials. It was to please her, she knew, but it was unnecessary. The only object of her affection was him. Everything else—his reputation, his appearance, his money—did not matter to her.

He was fixing breakfast in the small kitchen that branched off the living room. For a moment, she remained near the doorframe and watched him as he effortlessly handled the frying pan. It smelled good, the mouth-watering aroma teasing her nose.

"That mirror in the bathroom needs replacing," he said without turning around. Belle entered the kitchen and took a seat at the mahogany table. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and her stomach grumbled.

"Emma broke it trying to escape," Belle replied. She'd forgotten about the whole fiasco until now. She hoped he hadn't stepped on any glass—there was no magic in this world to fix a wound. Only doctors and a drug called morphine.

"She's lucky I'm capable of shaving without a mirror. I have half a mind to charge her for the expenses," he warned. Belle did not bite the line he was trying to cast; it'd be better if he left Emma to her own worries. "Amazing how much our roles have been reversed. I remember a time when _you_ were the one serving _me_ breakfast."

Belle laughed to herself—she remembered that, too. The first time she'd cooked for him, she'd been so nervous that he'd think she was horrible at it. Looking back, she realized he'd have eaten it regardless even if his pride verbally claimed otherwise.

"Yes, but I'll bet you're a much better cook than I am," she said as he took two plates from an upper cupboard. He gave her a dubious look over his shoulder as he scraped the food from the frying pan.

"Mixing potions and designing curses is much different than fixing scrambled eggs." Belle accepted the plate of food from him, but did not make a move to eat. She would wait politely for him.

"What is it you wanted to show me?" Was it his cooking skills? Though, she already knew that since he'd cooked for her after offering her hospitality as Isabella. Or was it the apron he was wearing over his suit?

"Eager, are we?" A warm blush rose to her cheeks at her over-excitement. It would be impossible to guess what he had in store for her, knowing his ambiguity. "Unfortunately, your surprise exists elsewhere."

Belle tilted her head curiously while he occupied the seat across from her. The food on her plate was all but forgotten. The excitement was charging up again, the need to know excruciating. Setting her elbows on the table, she animatedly leaned forward.

"You mean it's not here in the cabin?" Belle studied the interior of the cabin as though she could find the surprise and call his bluff. But nothing in the cabin had changed since last night; even the ashes still coated the grate of the fireplace.

"Afraid not, dearie," he lilted as his mouth closed over a forkful of egg. Belle opened her mouth to launch a slew of questions, but he held up a hand. "Your food is getting cold."

Taking the hint, she dug into her food as politely as possible. She even draped her napkin over her lap before bringing the fork to her lips. Instantly, she moaned with delight around the mouthful of breakfast. Rumpelstiltskin chuckled from across the table.

"It's official. You are a much better cook than I am. This is loads better than last time, even," she complimented him. She wondered what his secret was—and then figured he most likely would not tell her. Rumpelstiltskin didn't seem to see the attraction as he took small bites.

"I've had nothing but time on my hands in the Enchanted Forest. I figured it'd be best to have a hobby other than spinning." Belle quickly forgot etiquette and chowed the breakfast down until her stomach was full.

Dabbing at his lips with a napkin, Rumpelstiltskin rose from his chair and retrieved his cane. Belle watched him as he approached her side and held out a hand.

"Are you ready for that surprise?"

…

Belle smoothed her hands over her bare arms as she walked alongside Rumpelstiltskin. The woods were beautiful, especially with the streak of sunlight shining through the trees. But there was a light breeze that sent gooseflesh crawling along her skin.

She wished she'd thought to wear a shawl or a cardigan. Rumpelstiltskin had neglected to buy one for her because he claimed it'd be "too Mary Margaret." Belle didn't know who that could be, but she shivered.

"Are you cold?" Rumpelstiltskin had noticed her shiver—of course he had. Belle waved it off.

"I'll be alright. I've become so used to that stuffy cabin; the breeze just took me by surprise," she explained. Rumpelstiltskin looked ready to protest or perhaps offer her his jacket like young people in love often do, but he only nodded. "Should we be walking this far? Your leg—"

Rumpelstiltskin stopped and she bumped into his shoulder.

"Would you catch me if I fell? Return the favor?" In her mind's eye, she recalled the way he caught her in his arms after falling off a ladder. The memory brought a warm sensation.

"Yes, of course," she answered. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the head of his cane. It must have been a strain for him to drag a lame leg around and not have the power to whisk it away. To her, it did not make him any less desirable.

"Then there is no reason to worry."

Swiftly he carried on, leading the way deeper into the woods. Belle hoped he didn't lose his footing on the twisted roots that intruded their path. She wondered how far their destination was. "It's not far now."

The man could have been a mind-reader. Or did he simply know her that well? Belle typically learned something new about him every day. Soundlessly, they traversed.

Belle liked to think of herself as a decent traveling companion. Never did she complain about the distance or ask the grating question _Are we there yet? _Never did she protest that her legs were growing tired or sing ridiculous tunes to break the moments of silence. She basked in his silent comfort and followed wherever he went.

At last, the path changed and they started uphill. It wasn't very steep, yet their breathing became hitched with the effort of climbing. Belle placed a reassuring hand on his back, in case he needed stability.

And then she slowed as her ears caught a peculiar sound through the trees.

"Is that…water?" Yes, there it was. The sound of rushing water somewhere nearby. It had something to do with her surprise; she instinctively knew it. A knot clenched in her stomach.

"Quite the clever woman," Rumpelstiltskin commented as he continued along the inclined path. Belle tilted her head and listened to the soothing sound of a stream. Or was it a full-bodied river? She could only think of one in Storybrooke.

"Are we heading to the Toll Bridge?" She remembered it—the place where she'd met Ruby the night of her escape from the hospital. It had been dark, but she could still recall the beauty of it, with the full moon hanging above.

Rumpelstiltskin reached the height of the hill and looked down upon her. The glaring sun cast shadows over his face, making it difficult to see his expression. She thought he might be smirking.

"Not quite," he told her, beckoning for her to join him.

Belle rushed up the hill, the grass and sod slipping under her shoes. Nearly there, her ankle snagged on a twisted root and she went toppling in open air. Rumpelstiltskin darted forward and caught her in his arms before she could do a massive face-plant on the ground.

_That was close, _she thought. Her heart thudded painfully as she gazed up at him, his arms folding like wings around her body.

"I suppose you'll have to return the favor twice now," he murmured with a ghost of a smile. Belle regained her footing, leaning against his chest for support. She gave a light nod to him. _You see? When it comes down to it, you're really not that bad, Rumpelstiltskin. That's the second time you've caught me. _

Linking her arm with his, she walked with him through the thick foliage of trees.

And she gasped.

It was the most breath-taking sight she'd ever laid eyes on. A crystal-clear pool of water only a few feet away, the surface glistening like diamonds as the sun struck down over it. A waterfall poured from a rocky wall, mist clouding the air as the pool stretched into a river that curved through the woods. Flowers surrounded the water's edge in various shades of red, white, and blue.

"Surprise," Rumpelstiltskin breathed into her ear. Belle was almost certain her mouth was rudely hanging open in awe. "It leads to the Toll Bridge. Very few know of this place. Consider it my way of making up for yesterday's dilemma."

Gaston and their tense conversation were the farthest things from her mind.

"It's lovely," she exclaimed in wonder. She regretted leaving her book at the cabin; it would be so nice to read while dangling her feet in the refreshing water. This place brimmed with beauty and magic—it felt like a forgotten piece of home.

Rumpelstiltskin ran a hand down her back.

"I'm glad you approve. Now…shall we make the best of it?"

Belle wasn't entirely sure what he meant until he leaned his cane against a shaded tree and peeled off his jacket. At first she blushed at his sudden incentive, thinking he wanted to…because of last night…but, no. She realized he was planning on a simple swim.

Rumpelstiltskin removed his shirt and folded it up, leaving it in a square at the base of the tree. He hesitated on shedding any clothing below his waist. Belle thought he might be shy, though she had seen every inch of him before. Then he offered her a concerned look and she understood that he was worried about her own embarrassment.

"If you're not comfortable…I can just—" Belle strode straight up to him and smoothed her hands along his bare chest. His words ceased immediately.

"I've seen worse," she said as she admired him. "Stop worrying about how I'll look at you. I already love you." The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly before he proceeded to strip down to his boxers.

Gradually, he waded into the water, wincing whenever the cold water was unbearably icy. The water submersed his ankles, his legs; every part of his skin until he was drifting waist-deep. His muscles rolled as he relied on his arms to keep him afloat, but there was a blissful smile on his lips.

He looked almost…happy.

"Are you coming to join me are you going to make me come get you?" A devilish gleam danced in his eyes as he hooked a finger and requested her presence. Belle's excitement drained as she eyed the water nervously. She took a step back.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," she said, crossing her arms securely over her chest. She savored the feel of dry clothing rubbing against her skin. Rumpelstiltskin's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Are you afraid of me?" Belle rolled her eyes. That was hardly the reason. Far from it, actually.

"Of course not," she retorted. He frowned thoughtfully.

"Is it…that time of the month?" Belle averted her gaze to the ground.

"No. Not for another week," she quietly admitted. He stroked his hands through the water impatiently. He was seriously puzzled now.

"Then what other reason could you have for not taking a swim with me?" Okay, now she was embarrassed. It was mainly due to her unwanted show of cowardice. Everyone was afraid of something, weren't they?

The surprise wasn't much of a surprise if she couldn't enjoy it the way he expected. She knew her anxiety was ridiculous—almost childish, even. Honestly, she'd be willing to try anything once, but…

"Belle?"

"I can't swim," she blurted out. Heat coursed up her neck as she remained rooted to the spot under his bemused scrutiny. "My father never taught me and I've been locked up for the past twenty-eight years in this town. I don't know if Isabella could swim, but I can't."

"In other words, you're afraid you'll drown?" He was much too gleeful over this prospect. Did he think she was making a quip? All the while, her heart hammered in her chest as she pictured herself slipping under the surface of the water.

"Yes, I'd say that's one of my main concerns."

A laugh escaped his throat. It died away when he noticed she was dead serious. Belle had simply never been swimming before, especially after her mother's death when books became her source of time and happiness.

"Belle, I'm a cripple and I'm swimming just fine," he told her, though she could see how much energy it cost him. Stubborn to no end, he feigned relaxation and spread his arms in the water. Tilting his head back, he soaked his hair.

Belle never moved an inch.

"You've also had centuries to practice," she reasoned. It didn't help that there were few to no books explaining the process of swimming—for most, it was common knowledge. Rumpelstiltskin was gaping at her. Had she done something odd?

"Are you insinuating that I've grown _old_, dearie?" Belle laughed despite her anxiety. Most of the time, she forgot she was spending time with someone as ageless as him. What was he…four hundred years old? Or was it three hundred?

"The fact still remains: I can't swim." Rumpelstiltskin paddled over to the edge of the water and tilted his head at her—an invitation.

"Come here," he asked, making a small wave with his hand. Belle slowly edged toward the water and stopped an inch from it. "Now take off that little dress of yours." Belle fingered the strap on her shoulder and couldn't help the smile.

"Eager, are we?" He smirked at her as she slid off the blue sundress, letting it pile on the ground. All that was left was her undergarments. Reluctantly, she dipped one foot in the water and hopped back. "This water is freezing!"

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged, but he seemed amused by her reaction.

"This is Maine, dearie. What did you expect? Palm trees and dolphins?" He motioned for her to try it again. Belle fought against the cold tide and went as far as ankle-deep. Rumpelstiltskin held out a hand to her. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't need to think twice about it.

"Yes." She laid her hand in his and he guided her down into his arms.

Daggers of cold chills attacked her skin as the water swirled around her. Her legs pumped to find some solid surface, but there was none. Belle clung to him as they drifted into the middle of the pool.

"Shh. I've got you," he murmured as her arms encircled his neck. His hands caught her hips and he held her close. "You don't fret when you take a bath, do you?"

Belle was momentarily distracted from the water, as he'd meant for her to be. She was like a child, seeking security from him. The fact that she was convinced he could offer it was miraculous in itself.

"That's different. I can feel the bottom then," she said. Her legs frantically kicked, but the bottom of the pool was beyond her reach without submersing her head. It made her cling to him even more fiercely, her head burrowing into his shoulder.

"Be brave. I would never let you fall," he reminded her. Slowly, Belle relaxed in his arms, her face glowing with a surge of confidence. She'd always wanted the chance to be brave. What was braver than conquering your fear?

Cautiously, she loosened her hold around his neck until she was lightly hanging on. They drifted near the roaring waterfall. Mimicking him, Belle dipped her head back and sighed as the water swirled around her hair. It felt…good.

"There's my good deed for the day. I've helped you face your fear. You realize you'll owe me a favor now," he taunted her, rich brown eyes shining with the reflection of the water.

Belle reeled him back in and nestled her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and the water seemed peaceful now—less daunting now that he was holding her. Perhaps she'd even allow him to teach her how to swim properly.

"Maybe I'll have a surprise for you back at the cabin," she teased. Rumpelstiltskin's face darkened—he never liked surprises. Surprises were unpredictable and out of his control.

"I suppose it'd be too much to ask for a hint." He bent his head until his lips hovered above hers. His warm breath tickled her skin and his fingers brushed aside the damp strands of her hair from her cheek.

"I could give you one…but you'd owe _me_ a favor." He grinned.

"That's my girl."

…

_**I remember Belle mentioning in Skin Deep that she wanted a chance to be brave, and that kind of had me playing around with things that she might have been somewhat hesitant to try. I hope you guys enjoyed it. **_

_**Did any of you catch the new promo for Season 2 after the marathon on Sunday? It was oh, so good! Only 19 days left until it premieres now. **_

_**Of course, I always have my reviewers to thank for their lovely comments and support for this story. You guys are awesome! **_

_**To The Sky Pirate Girl: You know, I have asked that same question since Hat Trick. Emma and Jefferson have such chemistry…hopefully we'll see more of them in Season 2. Thanks for reading!**_

_**To discotimelord: Thank you for the review! I'm wondering if Belle will ever find out about Gaston in the show—so I put it in my own story. (-; **_

_**To thedoctorsgirl42: Oh, the commentary episode is absolutely fantastic. I highly recommend it—there's actually a lot of interesting information they mention. There's also another one for 7:15 am between Josh Dallas (Charming) and Ginnifer Goodwin (Snow). **_

_**To Bluecanbegreen: Well, thank you for trying to come up with as many adjectives as you can. I'll bet you're using a thesaurus, aren't you? The DVD for Once is awesome, by the way. (-; **_

_**To megumisakura: Thank you so much for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I only try my best!**_

_**To Romance and Musicals: Don't worry—I'm not through with Jefferson yet. I love him too much. You know, when I saw that scene between Mary Margaret and Emma, I actually thought Mary Margaret was on the verge of telling Emma to go to her room. Those two have a lot of catching up to do on the mother-daughter relationship. Thanks for reading!**_

_**To Grace5231973: I agree with you one hundred percent. I never liked Gaston and I'm glad the show took care of him early on. I half-expected him to be an obstacle for Rumbelle like Kathryn was for David and Mary Margaret. I like him better as a rose, too! I just hope he didn't need…whatever it was that Belle snipped. (-;**_

_**To prttykitty7728: Aw, thank you for the comment! I try to update as fast as I can and keep my readers satisfied. **_

_**To lilylulurose: Well, you have to admit their relationship is not an easy-going one. They have issues to work out and their true love isn't perfect or pristine as Snowing's seems to be. I think it'll be the same for the show, too. Don't worry—Mad Swan happens to be one of my favored ships, so maybe something good is yet to come. Thanks for the review!**_

_**Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying the story so much! **_


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N: Hello there, readers. Sorry for the delay in updating! It's been a crazy couple of weeks. But here is the next chapter and I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

"_**Snow White shall die," cried she, "though it should cost me my own life!" And then she went to a secret lonely chamber, where no one was likely to follow, and there she made a poisonous apple. It was beautiful to look upon, being white with red cheeks, so that anyone who should see it must long for it, but whoever ate even a little bit of it must die.**_

A chilling gust of wind flipped the page she was engrossed in reading as the cabin door swung open. It had been just getting to the intense part, too. Belle sighed and set the book down on the coffee table, shifting in her seat to greet Rumpelstiltskin.

The words died on her lips. Her muscles tensed.

He'd only run out to the convenience store to pick up a few groceries, since it was indefinite how long she'd be staying here. Not that she minded—she had grown to like this cabin. Milk, eggs, bread…it had been a simple list.

And yet, his face was undeniably grave.

"What's wrong? Did the store run out of eggs?" In his hand, he carried a white bag of the groceries and he laid it down on the table. He refused to meet her gaze. It meant whatever was bothering him was something large. "Is it…Regina?"

Immediately, his hand rose to calm her. It was one of her secret fears—Regina showing up here while he was gone and punishing her far worse than she had with a burning rod of iron.

"Everything is under control, Belle. I promise you that," he murmured as he set his cane beside the door. It did not answer her question. As a matter of fact, he cleverly evaded it.

Belle rose from the couch and blocked his path to the kitchen. Gently, she placed her palms on his jaw and forced him to look at her. What she saw was the cunning rotation of wheels inside the mind of a skillful dealmaker.

"Rumpelstiltskin, please. Don't shut me out," she pleaded, gazing straight into his eyes. Always so introverted with his plans, she knew he would tell her everything was under control, provided he could carry the weight of his knowledge alone. "Whatever it is you're thinking…_tell me." _

For a long minute, the lines creasing his eyes stretched like spider-web along his skin as he internally debated against it. His lips came together in a flat line, his fist curled over empty air where the support of his cane should be. The depths of his brown eyes were dangerously cloudy; seeing her, but not really seeing her at all.

Belle lowered her hands to her sides in defeat. He instinctively smoothed a hand across his jaw where her touch had lingered only a second ago, but she could not—would not—do it again.

He wasn't going to tell her, was he? Whatever ideas circulated his mind, his mind was where they would be trapped. Open to no one, least of all her. Secrets and manipulation. Did he not trust her?

"Why must there always be secrets between us?" Belle leveled her gaze boldly at him, but he did not respond.

What was the use of it? Who in this world or the next could ever hope to break through to a being such as Rumpelstiltskin? Some days it seemed she was hopeless as the rest.

She sullenly turned away to the couch—to the inviting pages of her book—but he surprised her by taking her by the elbow. Unlike the day he dragged her to her cell, this touch was tender as he led her to the couch and urged her to sit beside him.

The nerves inside her body bunched and curled like twisted wire as she expected leg-weakening news. That was why he insisted on sitting, wasn't it? To spare her a fainting spell? Why did he appear so…solemn?

"The Sheriff's son…has fallen into a coma," he announced. The bitterness in his tone—low and acidic—made her wince. Then the full impact thundered over her, coming in short waves. The Sheriff's son—Emma's son—was in the hospital. In a coma.

Oh, Emma must be heartbroken tonight. Nobody deserved the ill fate of losing a child. Nobody.

"How?" She never met Emma's son before, but her heart ached for him. There was a time beside the fire when Rumpelstiltskin explained all he knew of Storybrooke, including the fact that Henry was Emma's biological son and Regina's adopted son.

Regina.

Oh, no.

"It seems our lovely Mayor has gotten her filthy hands on a bit of magic. A poisoned apple, to be exact. An apple blackened with a fierce sleeping curse," he confirmed her fears. Belle's hand flew to her lips. Oh, the poor child.

"Why would she poison her own son?" How dark had the Queen become? Would that dreadful woman be so merciless as to sacrifice her own son to obtain what she desired? _Yes, _the answer came immediately. Yes, she would. She did.

"It was meant for Emma Swan," Rumpelstiltskin told her, his hand coming to rest on her knee. "A way to subdue our dear savior without taking her life. Without breaking the curse. Pity the boy took it instead. All magic comes with a price."

All magic came with a price. Rumpelstiltskin's infamous rule, of which no one heeded. And Henry's life was Regina's price to pay for bending the rules of a world without magic.

What was so desirable about magic if all it did was ultimately destroy?

"What do we do?" Rumpelstiltskin removed his hand from her leg. His back straightened confidently and the grief was gone from his face. From this point, he was playing the role of the one holding the aces. All business.

"_I _must return to my shop tonight. Just for a few hours while the cards are dealt on the table. There is a chance our savior will finally open her eyes and believe. She'll want to save her boy. And she'll come running to me," he declared.

The velvet glee in his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was almost as if the game of manipulation aroused him. Never had she seen his eyes gleam so avidly.

"I'm afraid for all intents and purposes, you'll have to remain here. Regina won't give up claim over Henry that easily." Rumpelstiltskin grunted as he rose from the couch, intending to abscond into the night.

Lurching forward, Belle caught his hand. It was her turn to take him by surprise.

"I would really love to see your shop again," she said as he gazed down upon her. He knew what she was asking, though she wasn't the type to beg. Belle bit softly on her lip as she waited for his response.

He sighed and turned to face her completely, his face shadowy in the light of the fire.

"My shop does have a back. With the curtain drawn, no one would realize you were there. Perhaps…" His hand tightened around hers, earning a bright smile. Belle lifted into his embrace and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"What is it you're hoping to find, Rumpelstiltskin?" There was a moment of thick silence; she was afraid he'd thrown his walls up again. Walls that clearly required a dwarf's pickaxe to chip. But soon his mouth pressed a kiss to her rich hair.

"Why, true love, dearie." Belle's gaze lifted to his face to detect whether he was being serious. Not an ounce of humor marred his face. "Quite conveniently, I managed to bottle some before we were dropped into this world."

Now her eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.

"You mean you…_bottled…_true love?" Was such a thing even possible? Here she always imagined true love to be too magnificent and pure an entity to be bottled anywhere. He smiled victoriously.

"Indeed. It so happens I've been saving it for a rainy day."

….

It was past nightfall, but still Rumpelstiltskin ushered her through the back door of the pawnshop. She hadn't even realized there was a back door. If she had, perhaps their meeting in this world would have gone differently.

The warmth of the shop relaxed her nerves considerably. It was like stepping into an enchanted toy store. There were so many antiques and mysterious objects waiting to be discovered, Belle didn't know what to focus on first. She found her feet carrying her to shelf after shelf, fingers outstretched to touch everything.

"It's…amazing," she sighed in wonder as she cradled a golden lamp. It must have once belonged to a genie. Green jewels encrusted the top, shining emerald in the dim light to the point where she could see the hazy outline of her reflection.

"One being's junk is another being's treasure," Rumpelstiltskin lilted and gently took the lamp from her hands to replace it on the shelf. Already she was drifting off to another shelf that contained ancient, dust-covered tomes. "Ah, those have been gathering dust for years. I should have known you'd discover them."

"Do you mind if I read them?" Belle's fingers grazed the delicate binding as though she were cradling a newborn.

"I'd be rather disappointed if you didn't," he acquiesced, much to her pleasure. Belle was halfway through the first page before he could even take a step in her direction.

There was a sudden chime as the shop's bell rang in the front. The guests of honor had arrived. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes could have burned through the curtain with the intensity in which he was staring, as though trying to view Regina and Emma through the fabric.

"Gold?" The bell rang out ten more times—Emma must have been opening and closing the door to gain his attention.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced uncertainly back at her, silently asking if she was content. She opened her mouth to tell him everything was fine, but he held a finger to his lips. No noise. She resolved to nodding him off. She was too caught up in her book to notice him slipping through the curtain.

Who knew she could find something so marvelous in the back room of a pawnshop?

"Well, well. Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?"

The spell broke. For the first time in her life, Belle was disrupted from her book and failed to concentrate on it. The sound of Rumpelstiltskin's voice lured her to the curtain. Was it true? Did Emma—their savior—finally believe?

Concealed behind the black curtain, she listened to the conversation as it unfolded. Immediately, she detected Regina's clipped tone, battling with Emma's stern one. Even from here, she could hear the worry in Emma's voice.

As quietly as possible, even holding her breath until her lungs screamed, Belle pressed her palms against the doorframe and leaned close to the curtain. It wavered for a moment—she prayed no one noticed.

A thin slice along the side revealed the world beyond the curtain. It tempted her. The curtain didn't quite meet the wall and beyond it was movement. Rumpelstiltskin's cane tapped on the boards as he occupied the two women.

Oh, her curiosity was getting the better of her. Common sense demanded that she rein it in, but it was much too powerful a force. It urged her to peer through the curtain, just for a second. Just one small look. What could it hurt?

No. She mustn't listen to that slithering, sneaky voice labeled curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. Her instincts screamed at her to return to the pile of books, to find comfort there instead.

That was exactly what she'd do—leave well enough alone and fill her mind with the crisp pages of those volumes.

"What is that?" Emma's voice floated through the curtain.

Belle's heart flitted into her throat. Had the curtain moved again? Had Emma noticed it? Any minute now, there would be the heavy footsteps and the curtain would be roughly flung away to expose her—

"Your father's sword," Rumpelstiltskin calmly answered. Belle felt the wind escape through her rosy lips. Rumpelstiltskin was showing something to Emma; that was all. No need to panic.

Oh, but Belle's mind was enraptured again. Beyond that curtain was a magnificent sword, no doubt once used in their world to slay a fearsome dragon or some creature of the sort. A piece of their world. Hope.

It pulled Belle to the curtain faster than ever and this time she hunched forward to glimpse the front of the shop.

For a moment, all she could see was Rumpelstiltskin's backside. There was a groan of the floorboards as he shifted and she could see Emma lifting a gleaming sword from a thin black box that rested on the display case.

The light danced off the blade, making it sparkle like diamonds. She dared to inch closer as the valiant beauty of it hypnotized her. Strong and steady, with a golden hilt. It was even better than the one that belonged to Gaston.

Ever so slightly, Rumpelstiltskin's head shifted until he was almost unnoticeably watching her over his shoulder. Belle lifted a hand to her lips to stifle the gasp threatening to slip out. Had she made some revealing noise?

And then her eyes returned to the bright sword and the way Emma was holding it up to examine it. The answer hit her like a ton of bricks.

The sword. Polished and shining, Rumpelstiltskin must have seen the reflection of the curtain within the blade. If Emma decided to turn around, back to the curtain, would she notice it, too? Or was it simply because Rumpelstiltskin was ever the observant type?

Belle tried to keep her hitched breathing in check as she gradually straightened to full height. It was a bad idea to eavesdrop. Turning, she set her eyes on the pile of books on the shelf. It was best just to return to her comfort zone.

But as she began to aim for them, her foot slid on the black curtain's hem and suddenly she was teetering backwards. Instinctively, she threw her arms out to steady her balance and to grab something for support, but it was too late.

There was a dreadful ripping sound and the curtain fell away, hurtling her into open air. Belle tumbled into the front of the shop, her limbs entangled with the suffocating black fabric. It was dead silent in the shop—if a pin fell, it would be ear-shattering.

Three pairs of eyes had fallen on her, devouring her whole.

…..

_**I want to thank everyone that has reviewed for this story recently. You guys are absolutely fabulous! Roses, anyone? **_

_**Thanks go to discotimelord, pokingdots, Bluecanbegreen, The Sky Pirate Girl, rene10, Ryunn Kazan, lilylulurose, thedoctorsgirl42, Grace5231973, megumisakura, Romance and Musicals, and prttykitty7728. **_

_**Are you guys ready for the season 2 premiere? **_


	28. Chapter 28

_**A/N: Hello, readers. To start this chapter off, I must say that the premiere (in my opinion) was incredible. For those fo you who have not had the chance to see it yet, I won't spoil it. I must say, though….that kiss! Rumbelle shippers should be happy. **_

_**Now, I hope you enjoy the chapter, everyone! **_

Three pairs of eyes devoured her as she knelt among the folds of the black curtain. Warmth spread along her cheek—she must have hit it and started bleeding. Beyond that, Belle could sense a pink flush coating her skin. She was a mouse being chewed over by seething snakes.

Regina's eyes were the first to catch Belle's attention, her presence now realized. Normally heavy-lidded, the dark irises glittered with stark surprise and then boiled into rage. Livid was too sugary a word to describe the red clouding her skin.

Somehow, Belle broke contact with the mayor and switched to Emma. The blonde had lowered the sword and it quivered in her grip. Her expression was shades softer than Regina's, but the stony confusion was hard to miss as Emma scrutinized her.

And then there was Rumpelstiltskin. Belle took the longest time lifting her eyes to his face. Slowly, they traversed from his waist to his shoulders, his neck. Part of her was foolishly afraid of what she might see. Disappointment? Bitterness? Pity?

Quietly, he exhaled as he gazed down upon her, towering over her. She was practically kneeling at his feet. Their gazes locked and Belle was more frozen than ever, a deer stuck in headlights. It was difficult to catch, but for a split second his eyes melted with concern, as though silently asking if she was alright.

It was gone, swift as lightning. And then he turned to Regina with his body half-shielding her in protection, daring the queen to make her move. As expected, Regina was the first to snap back to life and gain the use of her tongue.

"I knew it," she hissed, glaring full-force at Belle over Rumpelstiltskin's shoulder. Every time she shifted to try and catch her in sight, Rumpelstiltskin matched her steps and blocked her view. Belle rose and dusted herself off, defiantly meeting Regina's stare. "I knew you were hiding her away, you loathsome imp!"

Rumpelstiltskin hardly flinched at the belittling term—he'd heard it enough times over the years. As Emma blinked with renewed awareness, Regina whirled in her direction.

"There is your proof, Miss Swan. Do the town a favor and put her back where she belongs. Well, why are you still staring like a useless goldfish?" Emma lifted her gaze from Belle and sent Regina a look that should have been capable of turning her into stone.

"Regina…go to hell." Regina's lips parted in utter dismay and she was actually struck speechless. It was the first time Belle had ever known the Queen to be at a loss for words. Her cheeks grew red as if she'd been brutally slapped.

"Excuse me?" Emma took a step forward. It must have been a trick of the light, but Belle could swear Regina had taken an involuntary step back in return. It seemed she had met her match in the hard-edged, take no nonsense Emma Swan. And Belle could not help eyeing the Sheriff in wonder.

"You heard me, Your Majesty. Go. To. Hell," Emma roared again. Regina looked like she was debating whether to rip Emma's head from her shoulders or throw a nasty punch. She must have forgotten Emma was the one holding the sword. Her father's sword.

"Nicely said, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin whispered. The amusement was not lost on anyone, especially Belle. Having no patience for it, Regina spun wildly, a black whirlwind of fury.

"Shut up, you malevolent _beast!" _That term…Rumpelstiltskin despised.

A thick tension cloaked the air as Rumpelstiltskin squared his shoulders, his hands gripping the edges of the display case until they turned white. If not for the display case, Belle was sure those hands—hands that had soothed and caressed her skin so lovingly—would be locked around Regina's throat.

Hesitantly, Belle reached out and brushed a hand along his shoulder blade, reminding him to take easy steps. His muscles recoiled under her touch, but soon relaxed. Easy steps.

"Unfortunately, Your Majesty, Emma would not be able to touch Belle even if she wanted to. Nor can she arrest me, for that matter. Isn't that right…Emma?" Regina's dark head switched back to the Sheriff incredulously. The memory of the cabin and Emma's last moments there resurfaced.

But would the Sheriff keep her word?

Meeting Belle's eye, the corners of Emma's lips lifted slightly. Just enough to give Belle a hint.

"Sorry, Regina…but a deal's a deal," Emma gleefully confirmed. Belle was glad to know Emma was the type to keep her word, but Regina was not an ounce pleased with such loyalties. Her hands curled into fists by her sides, her red lips flattened, and her sharp glare burned into Belle.

"Fine. If you won't do your job, then I will," she threatened. As Regina charged forward, Rumpelstiltskin stepped sharply in front of Belle, determined to take Regina's blows for her. As brave as it might be to have him protect her, Belle truly did not want to see him hurt by the Queen; in a moment, she might have resorted to urging him out of the way.

But as it turned out, he didn't need to protect her.

A sharp metallic sound clattered against the display case and Regina gasped. Belle peered around Rumpelstiltskin's arm to see Emma, blocking Regina's path with the sword. It shifted until the blade was aimed for Regina's heart.

"No, you won't," Emma declared. If it was meant to intimidate Regina with the uncertainty of her imminent death, it wasn't working. Regina stared down at the sword as though it were a plastic toy.

"Oh, are you planning on shishkebobbing me?" She slapped the blade away. Wrong move. Emma closed in, a natural warrior infused with her father's valiance, the blade held upright between their faces.

"You're lucky I'm only just considering it after everything you've done," Emma hurled at her. "My only concern is Henry. Come with me and save his life or stay here and terrorize another innocent person. I don't care. But if you don't come, Your Majesty, then I'll know just how much you appreciate Henry's life."

Emma lowered the sword and waited for Regina to make her decision. Back and forth, Regina's eyes swiveled between Belle and Emma. The fight simmered out of her and she released an annoyed sigh.

"Have it your way. Enjoy your happiness while it lasts," she shot at Belle and Rumpelstiltskin.

"I'll consider that your blessing," Rumpelstiltskin retorted, earning a fierce glare. Striding to the door, Regina yanked it open and fled into the night. Belle clutched Rumpelstiltskin's arm and sighed with relief.

"Thank you," she murmured to Emma. The sheriff shrugged morosely.

"You saved my life with a gun; I saved yours with a sword. We're even," she declared. "Now if you don't mind, I have to save my son."

…..

"I'm sorry," Belle whispered for the tenth time. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, Rumpelstiltskin dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and applied it to her swollen cheek. She winced as the scrape stung. His thumb rubbed over it, as if he wished to conjure a bit of magic to heal it away.

"You keep saying that, dear," he murmured, all of his concentration centered on cleaning her wound. Brow furrowed, it seemed he was deliberately avoiding gazing into her eyes.

"I keep feeling it," she responded softly. Sitting atop his desk, her focus dropped to her lightly swinging legs, shameful.

It was her fault that entire scene had occurred. If not, Emma and Regina would have left the shop without being the wiser of her presence. She shouldn't have let her curiosity get the better of her; she should never have peeked through the curtain…

The cloth paused in soaking her cheek and she could hear every small breath he drew in. The cloth fell away and was immediately replaced with the warmth of his hand cupping her cheek.

"Sweetheart," he drawled silkily, sending a coil of pleasure through her belly. It was the most intimate title he'd ever given her. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his, which were brimming with affection for her. "I'm not upset with you. Belle, if you want to tear down my curtains ten times a day, then so be it. I'm sure…I've done worse."

It was his turn to lower his eyes as he returned to soaking the cloth in the bowl and wringing it out.

"Rumpel—"

"I know you wish for me to see myself as a good man. But, Belle, I…I just can't. That man no longer exists. Not for centuries. Sorry to keep disappointing you," he murmured. Belle's heart ached to understand that he honestly believed everything he was saying. "But I do know that I love you."

The breath left Belle's lungs under the intensity of his gaze. One thing she knew—monsters could not be capable of such a delicate emotion as love. It was proof, wasn't it? Somewhere deep inside, he could be a good man.

"I love you," she returned a moment before his lips captured hers. Fingers raking through his hair, the security of his arms wrapping around her body, it was a passionate kiss that left them both breathless. Breathing roughly, Belle sunk her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes as his fingers stroked her hair.

"Who knew you could be so gentle?" Belle smiled against his crisp white collar, his skin inches from her lips. Inhaling deeply, she breathed him in until his scent was imprinted on her mind. Her favorite smell.

"I have my moments," he admitted, the amusement crystal clear in his voice. And then the stroking stopped. Belle raised her head and caught a flicker of determination before it swam away. The wheels were turning. "There is something I must do. Alone," he emphasized before she could object.

Belle's hands smoothed down his chest and then dropped to grip the edges of his desk. A frown creased her lips, dampening her happiness. What could he be planning this time? Why was it so hard for him to open up to her? Because he assumed she'd judge him? Condemn him?

How could he even consider that after she'd so eagerly confessed her love for him?

And then, as he chose not to directly meet her stare, she began to understand. She was the mirror, draped so that he may avoid peering too closely. He was afraid of what he'd see inside.

"I'll be waiting," she promised. Whatever he intended to do, there was little she could say to stop him. If he wanted it badly enough, he would have it. The least she could offer him was her faith and trust, even if he was reluctant to return it.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he softly kissed it and gave it a light squeeze.

"I will come back for you." With a final caress of her jaw, he unrolled his sleeves, gathered his cane, and headed for the black curtain that still lay rumpled on the ground. Belle watched him leave, listened as the bell rang out one silver chime. She would trust him, of course she would.

She only hoped he would not take her trust for granted.

…..

_**For the record, I absolutely LOVED the way Robert Carlyle said "sweetheart" to Belle. It had to go in here. **_

_**And I must thank all those that are reading and reviewing. You guys rock for those awesome comments and support! Here's to shaylove, rene10, Romance and Musicals, discotimelord, Grace5231973, thedoctorsgirl42, prttykitty7728, cherry-888, and tigger64. **_

_**Thank you everyone for reading! Hopefully I'll have another one up before the second episode—of which, I am most certainly looking forward to. (-;**_


	29. Chapter 29

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine**_

For a man with a lame leg, Gold was exceptionally capable of being stealthy when he truly wished to be. Much like his time in the Enchanted Forest, he always found a slick enjoyment out of sneaking up behind people when they weren't aware. It was one of his favorite tricks.

Some things never changed between worlds.

Turning the library's knob extra slowly in his hand so as to avoid making even the slightest creak, he edged it open. This library had been closed during the entire twenty-eight years due to Maleficent's hideaway. It was boarded up, cobwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling, and it stank of must.

He had no doubt Belle would have cast away all those inconveniences as long as she was able to peruse the shelves of books. It almost made him regret leaving her behind and missing the inevitable glow on her face. Almost.

The hum of the elevator filled the room, disguising any odd footfall the soles of his shoes happened to make on the tiled floor. Carrying his cane, he ambled forward—better not to allow it to tap the floor. His leg would be aching tomorrow, but great power comes with great sacrifice, right?

Regina had her back turned to him as she lingered by the elevator's control panel. The impatient drumming of her nails on her hip was a sign that she hadn't yet noticed his presence. Of course not; their dear Madame Mayor was much too self-absorbed for that. It was still a good thing, a benefit to him. No doubt Emma was venturing deep below his feet, prepared to face her ultimate challenge. Unaware that Regina would soon be preoccupied with her own problems.

He stopped within a foot of her; if he dared take another step, his body would surely brush hers, as disgusting as it was for him to imagine. Gradually, he raised his cane above his head. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. Consider it part one of his revenge in Belle's name.

At the very last second, Regina's nails stopped drumming and her head shifted to the side. She knew. His lips curled maliciously as he brought the cane down on the back of her head, a blow that rendered her immediately unconscious. Her legs buckled and her body drifted lifelessly to the yellowed floor. Had he not grabbed her, she would have fallen into the elevator shaft.

Setting her limp form on a nearby chair, he dug out the duct tape and began to apply it to her mouth, hands, and feet. It'd be a blessing not to listen to her foul-mouthed complaints when she came around from her stupor. Whatever curse she threatened his name with, it could stay inside her little, hopeless head.

And now, as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, all that was left to do was wait for Emma to rejoin the game.

…...

It was proving impossible to be bored inside Rumpelstiltskin's shop. It reminded her of the early days spent inside his Dark Castle—there was always some mysterious object that attracted her attention. Especially during the times she had grown accustomed to dusting, those objects had been quite the extent of her admiration, providing moments where she could find something wondrous in such a dark place.

And there were so many objects! The shelves were crammed with them, the walls decorated with overhanging treasures. Belle spun in place in the middle of the shop for a full minute, drinking in every detail until it made her dizzy.

There were paintings-marvelous, rich paintings one could only hope to display inside the comfort of their home. Even the frames were a sight to behold; gorgeous carved wood, one with a pattern of elaborate roses. There were beautiful dresses that she could not resist trying on, at least until she settled with a lovely cerulean knee-length one. Blue had always been her favorite color, so peaceful and pure. She only hoped Rumpelstiltskin would not mind her new apparel.

There was even an assortment of objects she did not recognize, instigating a crucial reminder that this world was unfamiliar to her. A blocky, heavy thing was stored away on the shelf in the backroom. It had a range of buttons and dials and a black cord—similar to a ropey snake—spiraling behind it. When Belle nudged one of the dials, the object flickered with color and life. Her false memories offered up the word _television._ Television. It rolled off her tongue, a foreign word that held little meaning.

She'd never seen pictures that _moved_ before. Maybe this world did have its own sense of magic. Were there such things as books that moved this way, too?

Most of all, she was drawn to the glass unicorn mobile suspended above one of the display cases. It was so enchanting, so delicate; it could only belong to their world. Caught in a mesmerized trance, Belle extended a finger to touch one of the lightly swaying unicorns.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Belle's hand shot back, her body leaping away from the counter in surprise. Lingering in the doorway, he chuckled at her jumpy reaction. She hadn't even heard him come back—even as the Dark One, he'd always been so silent on his feet.

"Who did it belong to?" Belle watched as the dim light of the shop caught the glass mobile and cast a spectrum of rainbows over the display case. This time, she heard his soft steps as he approached her and gently smoothed a hand along her back. He was trying to avoid startling her again.

"The fairest of them all, dearie. Snow White," the name rolled over his tongue with a degree of noticeable fondness. It was a good thing Belle was not the jealous type. "It was meant for her precious daughter. Quite the stunning object," he said as his fingers reached out to still one of the unicorns. "As stunning as that dress, if I do say so myself."

Belle blushed at his appraisal and instinctively smoothed her palms along the length of the dress. For a brief moment, she wasn't sure whether he would notice the dress at all. Of course he would. Rumpelstiltskin was the most observant man she knew.

"I hope you don't mind—"He pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her. That hand then caressed her wounded cheek tenderly and threaded through her hair.

"Belle, whatever you wish to wear—or not to wear—is fine by me. I'd rather no one else in that dress," he said, taking the time to admire it on her body. She allowed his eyes to roam and never even considered what her father might think of such bold behavior. He'd been on her mind less and less since she'd first kissed Rumpelstiltskin. She supposed that's what true love did to a person—clouded their mind with their one beloved until there was nothing else to think about.

Rumpelstiltskin brought his palms together, snapping her from her dreamy thoughts.

"Now...twirl for me," he requested. She raised an eyebrow in speculation.

"Twirl?" The blush on her cheeks grew stronger. She'd never twirled for anyone before, not even when she'd donned that lovely golden dress. Sophisticated young women did not twirl like children before an audience. It was foolish, it was inappropriate. It was vain.

"I believe that is what I said. Twirl," he repeated, even going as far as making a circular motion with his finger. Oh, what was the harm? It sounded..._fun._ And this was a different world now with a different set of rules on etiquette. Sucking in a breath, Belle let go and twirled in place, the hem of her dress lifting into the air as she spun.

On her last rotation, Belle had become so enthusiastically caught up in the whirlwind of twirling that her foot came down the wrong way and she dizzily stumbled into his arms. Her arm circled his neck for support and he held her close, gazing into the depths of her eyes intently. The warmth of his body spread around her like the coziest of blankets. She couldn't help the lazy smile as his slender fingers brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Beautiful." Her chest swelled with emotion as the silky word rounded about her mind. Never once had her fiancé called her by such a delicate, considerate term. To hear the compliment from the lips of a man who believed he was a monster was….sweet.

Belle could have stayed in that moment for the rest of her life, it seemed. Embraced by her true love, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes absorbing nothing but him. With all good things, there was always an end. Something gold glistened from the display case and she turned her head to catch sight of an odd golden egg that Rumpelstiltskin must have set aside.

"What is that?" Rumpelstiltskin shifted his head, following her line of focus to the egg. For some reason, his face grew grim instead of elated.

"That," he said as he crossed the room to it and opened it. Inside was a velvet pocket encasing a vial of intense purple liquid. It shimmered and glowed against the glass. "True love. Now, there is one more task I need to complete, Belle—"

"And you are not doing it alone," she intercepted while he pocketed the vial.

Brow furrowing, he opened his mouth to protest the claim, but she never allowed him the chance. She hated having him leave her behind to deal with the struggles of this world. _Que sera, sera._ What will be, will be. She only wanted to be standing beside him when it happened. Together.

"Rumpelstiltskin, I trust you. Whatever it is you need to do, you'll have to do it with me by your side. Like it or not, I'm coming with you. I don't…" Her throat grew tight, but she forced the suffocating lump down. "I don't want us to be separated again."

Instantly, his face softened as he recognized the fear flashing in her eyes. Belle was not afraid of many things, but her biggest fear involved losing him a second time. She'd already been through that once and she had no intention of facing it again.

"Belle," he whispered, carefully pulling her back into his arms. She settled her head on his shoulder and he caressed the small of her back. "Did I not give you my word? I will not let anything happen to you. To us. You can come with me; of course you can, my love."

Belle smiled into his shoulder as he guided her to the door. And together they set out into the town and beyond it to the blanket of forest.

…

Deep in the heart of the woods, there was a well. It looked like any other, complete with a small wooden bucket meant for lifting pails of water, but Belle's nerves prickled as Rumpelstiltskin led her toward it. She couldn't quite place it, but her instincts warned her there was something different about this particular well. Something almost enchanting lilting in the air.

"Why are we here?"

A drink of water? Belle didn't suspect that water was positively safe to consume, what with the way the well was left exposed to environmental forces. Rain, leaves, snow…in time, that water would surely be far from fresh. Nevertheless, Rumpelstiltskin paused at the edge of it, peering down into the deep darkness.

"This well is special, Belle. It is believed to return that which one has lost," he explained cryptically as he revealed the small vial of true love. He extended his hand, silently asking her to come to him. Joining his side, Belle watched in amazement as he carelessly dropped it into the depths of the well. She listened, but it never seemed to reach the bottom. Not even a splash.

Everything was still for a few seconds that passed like years. Belle wondered what he had expected to happen. Then, she noticed it. Bubbling, thick and cloudy, was a slew of purple fog. It spilled over the rim of the well, pooling and snaking around her feet. As it rose and slithered clammily over her bare skin, she gripped Rumpelstiltskin's arm for support.

"What have you done?" His response was a victorious smirk. As his dark, endless eyes gleamed at the sight of the vapor, a smile of pure impish glee crossed his lips. He was enjoying this. This was what he'd wanted. The curls of smoke swept into the air above their heads, threatening to submerge them at any given time.

"We're in a land without magic, Belle. And I'm bringing it. Magic is coming," he whispered. There was a deeper sense of purpose embedded in his voice, the seams of a plan not yet unraveled. Belle had almost failed to hear it pass his lips; his tone was so low and drowned out by the gust of wind.

Magic.

It sent a terrible chill into her bones just imagining the repercussions of such an entity in this world. Magic in a land that was never meant to experience it or prepared for it.

"Why?" His head shifted in her direction and she could not mistake the sheer cunning that existed there. It was akin to peering into the gaze of a vulture, ready to plunge and purge its prey in one fatal fell swoop. A coup de grace, if ever there was one.

"Why? Because magic is power." Belle clutched tightly to Rumpelstiltskin's arm as the mysterious fog descended. The last thing she heard was his victorious laugh before the purple cloud cloaked them entirely.

….

The purple fog dissipated, seeping out as smoothly as it had seeped in. Belle blinked until her eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the leaves hanging on the trees. Was it her imagination or did those leaves appear enhanced in color? Where a moment ago they were a shade of faint yellow-green, the leaves were now an undeniably rich emerald. Magic.

As she held fast to Rumpelstiltskin's arm, she realized that little else had changed. They were still in Storybrooke. Here she imagined the breaking of the curse and the existence of magic would allow them to return to their world once more. Why were they here? Unless…not even magic could take them home, anymore.

Unless there was nothing to return to in the first place. Her father's kingdom, Rumpelstiltskin's eloquent Dark Castle, the place where she fell in love with him…had they all but ceased to exist?

She was ready to bombard him with questions, if only to ease her mind, before she noticed the changes that had settled over him. Much like the trees, his form was enhanced. His body was not supported by his cane and yet….

For the first time since they'd crossed paths in this world, he was standing tall. His legs were firm and absent of the limp that had plagued him as Mr. Gold. Brown eyes studied his palms in wonder—he must have already been sensing the weight of magic channeling through his veins.

As she watched, his hand glided out, his brow furrowed with concentration. It took a moment, but miraculously a twig resting at his feet began to rattle and roll across the earth. Uninfluenced by human touch, it should have been impossible. It grew still after a second, but it was enough to make her eyes widen with apprehension.

It had worked. Rumpelstiltskin had once more proven he could achieve the impossible. Magic had been brought to Storybrooke.

And judging by the growing smirk on his face and the excitement radiating off him in waves, he was quite proud of himself.

"You're doing it again," she whispered, snapping him out of his blissful trance. "You're choosing magic again. Your power." Belle stared hard at him until her eyelids burned with the desire to close, waiting for him to object her claim. Decidedly avoiding her gaze, he stayed silent. If only he understood that his silence spoke volumes.

Water brimming under her eyelids, Belle whirled and started back the way they came, the twigs snapping under her feet.

"Belle," he called after her. The pattern of his footsteps was steadier now that he no longer had to drag one leg around. Magic had given him that advantage and why ever would he want to refuse such a power? "Belle, wait."

With his improved speed, he managed to catch her by the elbow. Shaking her head frantically, she tried jerking away from his touch, but his arm circled her waist and swung her around into the cell of his arms. No matter what she did, she could not escape his grasp. He wanted her to listen.

"Belle, don't you see? Magic is power. I can heal those scars of yours to perfection. I can give you anything your heart desires with the snap of my fingers. I can protect you," he said, lowering his forehead to rest against hers.

Belle rammed her palms against his chest and impatiently blew a wisp of loose hair that was tickling her nose. He meant everything he said, but he did not _understand. _

"For starters, I don't need you to heal my scars. What Regina did to me was cruel and tragic, but there's no denying that it happened. Every story has a villain and moments of despair, otherwise it wouldn't be a very good story. It's part of my story and the fact that I survived it has only made me stronger," she argued, much to his obvious disdain. She wiggled and squirmed out of his embrace and he leveled a stony look at her.

"Second, I don't need you to give me anything…except your love. All I want is you, Rumpelstiltskin," she insisted, smoothing her hands along his forearms.

Something in his expression told her he did not believe that quite so enthusiastically. According to him—the notorious dealmaker—everyone wanted something. What he seemed to forget was that she'd already sacrificed everything for him; family, friends, freedom to experience the world as she once dreamed.

"Belle—" She held up a hand to halt his words. This time, he would be the one to listen.

"As for your protection, you don't need magic to do that. And I don't want your protection if it means you'll be paying the price. All magic comes with a price, right?" The grave glimmer in his brown eyes suggested he did not appreciate having his cunning words tossed back at him. It was a form of mockery, at best.

Belle allowed her words to sink into his mind, studied him as he shifted his head uncertainly away from her. He reminded her of the way he had cast her off in his castle, the time she'd asked the reason why he chose to spin so much. He was doing it now; casting her off as easily as rainwater. Disregarding everything she'd said.

"What's done is done," he muttered. It drove the breath from her lungs to realize that this was where he stood on the basis of magic. They might as well have been oceans apart, for they certainly did not see eye to eye. He was choosing magic…over her.

"Perhaps your power is your true love, Rumpelstiltskin. Not me," she accused rather coldly. There was no confusion or arching of the eyebrow to question her meaning, He knew exactly what she meant. The fact that he so readily perceived her meaning made her heart ache even harder. "Tell me, Rumpelstiltskin. Tell me that you do not value your power more than me. More than true love. "

Belle could hear the soft whispering of the wind through the trees as they stood there in the forest. His lips flattened into an unpleasant line—they did not part to form words in explanation or agreement. The cane was lodged so tight in his hands that it slightly quivered. Silence was all she received from him.

At last, she had her answer.

Gritting her teeth to staunch the upset gasp in her throat, Belle spun and aimed for the thatch of thick trees that would lead her away from this clearing, away from him. Her head was too cloudy with incoherent thought; inside, it was as though a freshly carved spear had pierced her chest and cracked it wide open for her insides to swell out. Was this how a true broken heart felt?

"Belle, please. Let me explain—" The warm tears stung the skin under her eyelids and she furiously wiped them away with the back of her hand. She refused to cry and show weakness in front of him now. _Be brave, _she encouraged herself.

"I've heard enough. I need time to think. Alone," she shot over her shoulder. She didn't exactly know where she would go. Perhaps she could go anywhere in town now that Regina was aware of her existence in Rumpelstiltskin's care. Perhaps she would search for her father, though it would be strenuous explaining her current distraught.

Either way, there was no point in remaining in the presence of his magic when it had proven to be so dangerous time and again.

"Belle—"

Suddenly, her legs froze in place, locking at the knee. Belle spread her arms out to break her fall, but she never met the ground. No matter how much she shifted her weight forward, backward, or even to the side, her feet refused to leave the forest floor. It was as if…as if…

Rumpelstiltskin revolved around her, his face grim. Remorseful. Guilty. The breath halted in her lungs, colder than any winter in her father's kingdom. No. He wouldn't do that to her, would he? He wouldn't enslave her with magic…would he?

"If you'll allow me to explain—" Oh, gods, he did. Something inside her chest splintered painfully. Anger like an erupting volcano swirled and burned through Belle's veins.

"How _dare_ you! How dare you use your magic over me! I'm not a possession you can simply control!" He shrugged carelessly despite the fact that he had forced his hand over his beloved. Did it even bother him at all? Or was he simply that skilled at hiding what he did not wish others to see? She knew he'd had centuries of practice.

"I figured it'd be easier than chasing you through the forest." The flatness of his tone startled her to no end. And then it angered her all the more. In his mind, using magic over her did not pose any problems; it was acceptable and just another show of his power. His power over her.

It was foul, tasteless…monstrous.

Wrenching her arm back, Belle let her instincts take charge and she slapped him straight across the face. It left a raging red print on his skin and the sharp sound rebounded through the woods. She was sure the entire town could hear it. Rubbing his throbbing jaw, his face became twisted with sorrow. She wondered if he was thinking he deserved it.

"Rumpelstiltskin…let me go," she bitterly demanded.

Eyes unwavering, she did not allow herself to feel anything for him except brutal, raw anger. The love, the comfort, the security was shoved down into the pit of her body, buried under everything else. Of course her emotions for him were still true, as every bit true as they had been an hour ago and a day ago. But allowing those emotions to run rampant would only mean greater damage to her heart.

Every second that passed, she became more convinced that he would refuse her wish. He would force her to stay there, until he'd given his acquiesce for her freedom. She was his prisoner, all over again. How had they come full-circle? Or had the circle always been the same and she was blind to its endless, circulating pattern?

"If you love me as you say you do, then release me." If he didn't…it would certainly destroy her, but at least she could come to terms with that which he most valued. She noticed his eyes narrow half in inch—in regret, not disgust or annoyance. Calculations clicked in his head; to release her or not to release her?

With an audible sigh, he lifted his hand and she pitched forward, the spell broken.

Too broken to meet his gaze, Belle rushed past him into the heart of the forest, granting it permission to swallow her whole. And, just as she asked, he released her and never bothered to watch her leave.

…

_**Poor Belle. Don't worry—I've got more things planned for this story yet. **_

_**Also, I got the idea of Belle's unfamiliarity with the television from a recent interview about OUAT. It was good of them to point out that Belle has never seen a television or a phone before. **_

_**I want to thank all my reviewers (of course) for all their support: MangGrl2665, RememberingYesterday, discotimelord, The Mistress Snape, rene10, DragonRose4, prttykitty7728, Romance and Musicals, Grace5231973, Kitani, and shaylove. **_

_**Thank you all so much for reading! **_


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N: Sorry that it took a while for me to update. These past few weeks have been busy, busy, busy. I blame midterms. And I must also apologize that, even though this chapter is pretty lengthy, there is no Rumpel. Don't worry; he'll return in the next chapter. For now, Belle is busy crossing with paths with Ruby again and reuniting with…dun-dun-dun…her father! **_

_**What will happen? Better start reading to find out! Enjoy, everyone! **_

Storybrooke, as Belle all too quickly discovered, was a foreign land.

As foreign as the Enchanted Forest would be to those who have never experienced it. Even though she had regained her memories earlier than most of the ill cursed, the time spent in the cabin and Rumpelstiltskin's home had deprived her of experiencing the town that trapped them all. It was a harsh breath of fresh air—she didn't know whether to embrace it or shudder from it.

Stepping out of the thicket of forest, Belle found herself on one of the main streets, with colorful shops lining the sidewalk. All of them were closed to business, vacant of everyday life. And why not? The curse was finally broken; the families that had been ripped apart could reunite happily in the streets.

The reminder of Rumpelstiltskin's magic, especially in the unspeakable way it had enslaved her at his mercy, branded a chill worse than the frosty gale of wind biting her exposed skin. Glancing over her shoulder at the shadowy clumps of forest, the distance between them seemed greater than before, each step making her heart heavier.

The last thing she wanted was for him to dabble in magic again, to be sucked into that unforgiving vortex of power. It only encouraged his beliefs that he was unlovable, untouchable, that a monster abusing magic was to be expected. And the way he had cruelly used his magic over her, as if she were but an object in his possession…

It drove a thick stake through her beating heart.

And what about his curse? His title as the Dark One would surely be reinstated, but would those unbearable chains prevent him once more from loving her? Never able to kiss her or caress her or…anything? Never to lie next to her in bed late at night and whisper his affection for her? All she wanted was for the two of them to be together, to be happy.

In that case, their curse had never broken. It was still very much intact.

Before those snaking, piercing thoughts could inflict any more damage, Belle shoved them down into the depths of her mind. The lump in her throat gradually subsided, though warm water pricked her eyelids. It hurt too much to think of him, probably still standing by that old well and testing out the extent of his power. An open wound with an endless supply of salt tantalizing it.

Closing her mind of all things Rumpel—which was no easy feat—Belle wandered into the heart of Storybrooke alone.

Everything around her—touch, sights, smell—was a foreign language that her tongue had not yet learned. Walking along the shops, Belle could not resist stretching her hand out to graze the passing walls; the rough, coarse texture of red brick, the cool, smooth windows of sparkling glass.

There were odd concepts plastered all over signs and windows that she'd never even heard of. It certainly did not belong in their world. For one thing, Belle had no idea what ice cream was. According to those wretched false memories, it was a creamy, sweet treat that was popular among many. Isabella's favorite flavor had been vanilla.

Peering into the abandoned, candy-colored shop, Belle wondered what Rumpelstiltskin's favorite flavor was. Was it chocolate? Located close to the pawnshop, perhaps he had stopped for some on the way home. Did he enjoy it as much as others in this town did? Was it perhaps a guilty pleasure?

As rapid as a knee-jerk reaction, Belle jumped away from the window and shook her head vehemently. No; she wasn't supposed to be thinking about him! She wasn't supposed to be entertaining the fantasy of the two of them sitting at one of those velvet booths and enjoying ice cream together.

But somehow the man was stuck inside her head. This was the curse of true love—thoughts burdened by the one you could not have, no matter if it was ultimately written in the stars. True love desperately needed a new author.

Belle let her feet trudge along, not entirely sure where they were leading. Did Isabella ever live among these people? Would they recognize her upon sight or had her existence always been limited to that formidable gray room? Did she have any friends or was she but another stranger alienated from the countless millions the Queen cursed?

An uprising commotion caught Belle's attention, offering her a chance to be distracted. Following the array of noise, she stumbled towards a magnificent white building that could only be the town's city hall. Dozens—no, hundreds—of people crowded around it, most in a blurred frenzy as the people of fairy tales panicked. Signs were being posted in search of loved ones; trucks were discarded along the road as the memories of how to control them ebbed in and out. Angry protests arose from the center; Belle caught snippets of the Queen's name being tossed around. It sounded like they weren't very happy about what she'd done.

"If you are looking for a family member, come to the front table! If you need counseling, Dr. Hopper has a sign-up sheet!" Belle lingered on the fringe of the crowd, thinking it best not to get involved with the hectic crowd. Turning on her heel, she accidentally slammed into a young girl with an arm full of blankets. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you looking for—"

The girl's sentence never finished. Instead, her sultry brown eyes widened in recognition. Belle was still fixing her clothing and brushing herself off from the unexpected encounter. She stiffened as the girl clutched her elbow, some of the blankets scattering to the ground.

"Oh, hey! It's you!" The girl's red lips widened in elated surprise, forcing Belle to take a jostled step backwards. For being locked up in a cell for almost three decades, she never thought recognition would strike this quickly. Maybe she did have a friend in town.

"Beg pardon?" She tilted her head and studied the young girl before her. The wild waves of ebony hair, the favorable use of red clothing, the genuine concern etched in what appeared to be endless eyes, the picture began forming in Belle's mind. It did not belong to her, but to Isabella—a night near the Toll Bridge soon after her escape. Oh, yes. "Ruby, right?"

The girl seemed relieved that Belle remembered and nodded her head. Frantically she glanced around before tugging Belle in the direction of a fire truck, where the two could speak in private beyond the frazzled commotion.

"Are you alright? I know we've only met the one time, but nobody's seen you after you escaped the hospital. Dr. Whale's nose still looks a little crooked. Not that I blame you," she blurted, grinning almost foolishly.

Belle faintly recalled punching a doctor that tried to stop her escape. It was almost frightening to recall—never had she hurt someone violently before. She scanned the crowd, wondering if that doctor was here and would accept an apology.

Ruby cocked her head in question. Oh, right—she was waiting for an answer.

"I'm fine," Belle mumbled the age-old lie. "Well, theoretically, anyway." There was nothing physically wrong with her, save for the burns on her arms. Emotionally was a different story. Ruby nodded in understanding and peered around the edge of the truck to scrutinize the crowd.

"I know what you mean. Everyone has two lives inside their head. It's tough sorting it all out. They're all confused and running scared now that the curse is broken," she explained, a trembling hand pressed to her chest. Belle wondered if Ruby realized how badly it was shaking. She would have asked about it, had Ruby not snapped back to reality. Oddly, she extended her hand. "Which reminds me. I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Red."

Instantly, Belle was transported back to Rumpelstiltskin's gorgeous library, the volume of Grimm Fairy Tales cradled in her lap. There had been an illustration marking the page of _Little Red Riding Hood_, of a young girl donned in a flowing red cloak with hair as dark as Ruby's. A smile crept along Belle's lips.

"As in…Red Riding Hood?" Throwing back her head, Ruby issued a hearty laugh. It broke within a few seconds. Laughter must have been hard to come by these days.

"Yes, but without the flimsy basket. My story's much different than the one they're telling in this world. Honestly, who came up with the idea of the wolf chowing down on a little girl's grandmother? If a wolf tried to eat Granny, it'd have a hard time getting past the crossbow."

This time, Belle laughed, mainly at the idea of what was presumed to be a frail grandmother sporting a deadly weapon. It was ridiculous…until Ruby—uh, Red—dodged around Belle and began yelling frantically into the crowd.

"Granny! What did I tell you at the Inn? Put the crossbow away! We're supposed to be keeping people calm, not scaring them!"

Belle followed Red's worried gaze to catch a glimpse of an old woman dangling a crossbow by her side. Perhaps there were some things she had yet to learn about her own world, never mind this one. Shaking her head musingly, Belle offered her hand.

"I'm Belle. That much hasn't changed, at least." The introduction brought Red back from the despairing look she'd been channeling to her Granny.

If faces really could light up with brilliance, then that was exactly what Red's face was doing right now. Lips splitting into a smile, there was a flash of cunning in those near-black irises.

"Ah, _Beauty and the Beast. _Suddenly the quest to find Gold makes sense," she teased, arching her eyebrows knowingly. Belle's gut twisted violently at the mention of her true love's Storybrooke alias. Even in a crowd as bothersome as this, there wasn't a time that Rumpelstiltskin's presence did not hang in the air. "So, did you do it?"

Belle froze in place. Red was staring at her so intently that Belle felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. What was Red talking about again? Do what? It? Like…._it_ it? Belle felt her cheeks flush uncontrollably as she recalled a particular intimate moment on the floor of the cabin.

"Excuse me?" Maybe she'd heard wrong. Red wasn't asking about _that_, was she? Oh, God, was Red good at reading people's faces? Did she notice the way heat was scorching Belle's neck, no doubt as crimson as the truck they were hiding behind?

"Did you do it? Find him?" Belle sighed with realization. So that's what Red meant, not…anything else. The blush never faded, though, as that passionate memory played out in her mind. Where was the stop button when you desperately needed it?

"Yes, I found him. It didn't work out as I hoped," she admitted. She bit down on her lip to keep the sadness from leaking through, but Belle knew some of it escaped. Instantly, Red's warmth crumbled into deep concern and pity. Somehow her sympathy only made the ache worse.

"I'm sorry. Maybe…you were the wrong beauty. Finding true love's tricky." Belle burrowed her fists in her coat pockets to hide the fact that they'd paled upon curling so painfully into balls. _Maybe you were the wrong beauty. _

The notion that another woman was more perfect for Rumpelstiltskin than her, that someone else was destined to be his true love was…mind-shattering. Falling off that ladder with no one to catch her—that was the equivalent of the flops her stomach was doing.

"True love isn't the problem. It's…" Belle trailed off as Red patiently waited, leaning against the truck as if she had all the time in the world.

Did she? Did Red even care to hear Belle's woes? Oh, but keeping it all inside was starting to become a challenge. She longed to tell someone, anyone. So, she sucked in a ragged breath.

"He values his magic more than his love for me." Why did truth so often prove more painful than lies?

"It sounds like Mr. Gold…" Red agreed, though there was an unspoken doubt lingering in her voice. Belle frowned as she anticipated it. "But I doubt that's true."

Belle's brow furrowed with confusion. Red was taking his side in this story? Then again, Red did not know the full story. Maybe she was simply being optimistic.

"Why is that?" Red shrugged loosely. Her focus became glassy and cloudy, as if watching a faraway dream pass by.

"Because true love is supposed to be the most powerful magic, right? If it's magic he wants, then all he would ever have to do is find you."

Belle imagined Rumpelstiltskin showing up to apologize to her, to tell her that all he needed in his life was her and that magic held no contest. But she knew the chance of that was slim to none. Red must have sensed her internal battle as she placed a comforting hand on Belle's shoulder.

"You shouldn't give up on true love so easily. Every relationship has its bumps and twists—it's just a matter of smoothing them out."

"Sounds like you've already found your true love," Belle mused. There had been a light-hearted tone in Red's voice when speaking about true love, the kind that Belle thought only existed for those that were in love. Had Red already reunited with her love somewhere in this crowd? Then why was Red pulling her hand away?

"I have….except I kind of ate him when I became a wolf."

Oh. That certainly ruined the light-hearted mood Red had been striving for. Belle sunk her head and scraped her shoe along a clump of grass. Red was doing everything she could to avoid her eyes.

"So, were you looking for someone else? Family? Friends? If you're thinking of leaving a fake husband or partner, Dr. Hopper….uh, Jiminy…is offering free counseling." Red pointed a finger in the right direction. Belle scrunched her nose; she'd had enough hospital treatment to last a lifetime, it seemed. And then her mind offered her a solution to her anxiety.

"Actually, I'm hoping you could tell me where I might find my father."

….

It was a madhouse out there. The streets were crowded with people reuniting with those they lost in the curse. Others were gathering together in the form of a mob and in talks of giving the Queen what she deserved. There was even an old lady with a crossbow at one point.

The odd purple smoke had vanished, leaving a poor effect on the town. Shops were boarded up, cars were overturned in the middle of the road, bits of gravel and sidewalk uplifted to the sky, torn up by the roots. Apparently, magic didn't mix well with this world.

French—as he'd been known for twenty-eight years—shook his head pitifully as he tended to the roses in his shop. It was the most normal thing he could think of doing at the moment. The heady incense of the petals soothed his nerves some. Everything else was falling apart at the seams. Was this how it felt to go mad?

It was strange, having two lives inside his head. In the Enchanted Forest, he'd never handled the gardens. That had always been his wife's hobby. But now it was embedded in his mind, the activities of a florist now second nature. And, if he had to be brutally honest, the roses reminded him of his sweet daughter Belle.

Belle…that had never returned from that beast's grasp.

In his heart, he wished to believe she was safe and well. But for all he knew, Queen Regina had spoken the truth. The beast had defiled her. Done away with her innocence, used her for his own unsavory purposes and then tossed her away into the dark dungeons to rot.

It was after he had regained his old memories, after he had shut the blinds to the mayhem, after he resorted to tending to Moe French's roses for the day that the shop door opened. His back was turned to it and he gritted his teeth as he felt the onslaught of a headache.

What kind of person would be looking to buy roses with the madness ensuing out there? Couldn't he simply be left alone?

"The shop's closed—" He started to announce, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with his returning memories. The person wasn't retreating. Were they deaf or something?

As he turned around, the words trailed away, the breath halting in his lungs. He rubbed his eyes, thinking it must be an illusion.

Belle.

There she was, lingering on the threshold, breathing deeply from a rose with a warm smile on her gentle face and her wide blue eyes—the same jewel blue as her mother's—brimming with hope. Belle, alive and safe. It was a miracle.

"Oh, my darling Belle," he cried out as he crossed the room to embrace her and felt the warmth of water behind his eyelids as she returned the gesture. His daughter, here. Alive. "Oh, how I've missed you. You're alright? You're safe?"

"Yes, Papa. I'm fine," she answered, stepping back from his embrace.

There was something solemn and tired in her voice that argued otherwise, but he chose not to press her about it. A knitting of her brows, a stiffening of her muscles as she wrapped her arms around herself…perhaps the breaking of the curse was taking a toll on everyone.

"The Queen locked me away in our world and I've been locked up here as well." Oh, yes. That was right—French's memories filled in the blanks once more.

There was a memory of the Sheriff informing him that his daughter, Isabella, had escaped the hospital where she was being held. It conflicted with his true memory of Queen Regina sweeping into his kingdom to inform him of Belle's quickening demise at the hands of Rumpelstiltskin.

Oh, his poor Belle. How much she had undeservingly suffered.

"The Queen locked you up…in our world? You mean...you escaped from that beast?" It dawned on him now that he would have to step up as her father and protect her. There was no telling what that foul monster would do if Belle had broken her deal. And who could blame her?

Despite his rising sense of responsibility and realization, he could not miss the way Belle's jaw clenched tightly and her lips flattened until they were almost as white as the roses in the corner of his shop.

"He let me go," she whispered. He thought he must have heard her wrong. Why would someone like Rumpelstiltskin willingly allow Belle, another of his possessions, to slip through his slimy fingers? At least she was safe, that was all that counted. "But, Papa—"

Overwhelmed—surely the incense was getting to him—he hugged Belle close to him again. He would never let her out of his sight after this. Oh, how he often felt he failed her mother by letting her go with that monster.

"He won't hurt you anymore, Belle. I promise," he reassured her. He expected to feel her relaxing at this promise, but she was still awkwardly anxious. How much had that beast gotten into her mind? Frightened her to death? "What is it you were going to tell me?"

He studied his daughter's lovely face. It seemed she had matured so beautifully during her time away from the kingdom. Stripped of the chance to see the world or settle down with a fine man like Gaston. It pained him to understand there was no getting back lost time.

Belle smiled weakly, though it did not reach her eyes at all.

"I…I missed you, too," she said behind a lump of emotion in her throat. He smiled in return and guided her to the door. It was a good thing that the French household was only a few blocks from his shop, Game of Thorns. Who had ever come up with that name, anyhow?

"Come on, Belle. We'll talk easier at home."

….

"I'm not sure if you remember this place," her father said as he guided Belle up the crumbling walk of a plain, shabby house. It must have belonged to the French's. It hardly resonated with her as she shielded her eyes from the sun and gazed up at it. "You were never here with me in this world. Having two lives inside my head, I feel like I'm going mad."

Belle was certain that the majority of the town would agree with him. She was thankful she did not continually have that problem. Isabella's inevitable instability would be exhausting to cope with. Having awoken before the curse broke, her true self seemed to have dominated over her Storybrooke self. Only faint pieces still lingered, like sea foam along the waves of a vast ocean.

Isabella French did not exist.

Her father unlocked the door for her and allowed her to step inside the kitchen. It was warm and bright, with yellow wallpaper and a vase of flowers on the mahogany table. One leg of the table was crooked, requiring the help of the yellow pages to stand upright. Breezy, curtained windows; stacks of bills left on the counter; a dusty jacket draping the back of a chair. It smelled of kitchen cleaner and grease.

It radiated the comfortable aura of being lived in, but it wasn't her home. Only a smidge of familiarity nudged her brain; it was as remote as studying a picture of a designer kitchen in a home magazine. The kind you always want, but that you're unlikely ever to have.

Closing her eyes, Belle rolled the word _home _inside her mind, urging up the images she associated with it. Home.

A massive library, shelves stacked with ancient books and leather armchairs that your body sunk deeply into before a raging fire. A master bed with silk sheets and a closet full of dresses that Belle could only dream of wearing. The smell of cologne over her shoulder as she handled a chipped dish and a living room that held too many wondrous objects to count.

And in the midst of all that, a beautiful castle with arched stained-glass windows, marble staircases, and the endless spinning of a wheel.

This wasn't her home.

"Would you like something to drink?" Belle returned to the present.

Her father opened the fridge and removed a glass bottle with a red label of Coca-Cola. He extended it to her in question. She stared at it blankly; she'd never even heard of that particular drink. Whatever happened to water and tea? She shook her head.

"I…I expect the hospital didn't have these drinks, did they?"

"No," she sighed. "The nurses hardly gave us water. All we had was stale bread, crackers, and soup."

There was that uncomfortable sympathy in her father's eyes again. She didn't mean to make him feel bad; it wasn't his fault Regina had chosen to lock her away for so many years. And it wasn't his fault that Moe French obviously hadn't cared enough for his daughter.

Quietly, her father closed the door of the refrigerator and ambled over to a cupboard. He removed a strange metal tool and popped the cap off the bottle, issuing a low hiss as the air escaped. Belle's eyes roamed over the lack of pictures on the walls and noticed the staircase beyond the kitchen. Was Isabella's room untouched? Were there pictures on those walls, blankets still rumpled on the bed?

"Here, take your coat off and have a seat. It'll be a while before everyone in this town settles down," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs.

It was getting a little stuffy in here. Belle shook off the coat—a fur-lined one that Rumpelstiltskin had provided her from the racks in the back of his shop—and draped it on a chair. That was better.

"I'm so glad you're alive and safe. I can only imagine the type of hideous things that beast has done to you."

Belle bit down on her lip nervously. Back in her father's flower shop, she had been ready to tell him about how she was in love with Rumpelstiltskin and how she had ended up there in the first place. But her father had been so overjoyed to have her back, she didn't want to ruin a good moment by upsetting him. She knew he would not understand easily.

Oh, but it was proving so difficult to listen to him degrade Rumpelstiltskin so bitterly.

"Papa—"

"Take Gaston," he continued. He wasn't listening to her. Once her father got going on a subject, it was almost impossible to derail him. "No one's seen him since he set off for the Dark Castle. Poor lad." That was because Rumpelstiltskin turned him into a rose. Not that she was about to add fuel to the fire.

It was time. She had to tell him.

"Perhaps he's not as much of a monster as you think. Perhaps that's just what he believes. It's the way he wants people to see him," she started, sinking into the wooden chair as much as she could. Underneath the table, Belle crossed her legs tightly and waited for her father's response. Now, it was not only stuffy in the kitchen; it was humid and thick. Suffocating.

"Just what are you saying, Belle? Are you…?" He didn't finish his sentence. Maybe he was afraid to put the possibility on the table. Belle folded her hands and forced herself to meet her father's questioning gaze. The Coca-Cola in his hand was long forgotten, even as it fizzed.

"Something changed while I was with him. It was hard at first, but…then I started to get to know him and…" Her father's face was paling by the second. He wasn't approving of the direction of this conversation. It was best to just blurt it out, wasn't it? Already, Belle's body was working ahead of her and shifting in her chair to face him. "Papa, I…I love him."

It was out in the open, Belle's heart exposed. Would her father accept it? Or shatter it to pieces?

It didn't matter whether Belle anticipated her father's anger or not; there was no glancing away from his eyes. They held hers with a stony defiance, a cold disbelief that she had only ever seen once: the moment Rumpelstiltskin declared his price for the protection of their kingdom during the war.

"Belle, no…What has he done to you? He's…He's done something to you to make you favor him. Don't you see? It's another of his ploys," he roared, smashing the glass bottle down on the counter. The bottom cracked and dark liquid streamed along the counter like a black waterfall.

The waterfall…lounging in Rumpelstiltskin's arms as he held her close and taught her how to swim…floating in circles and allowing the icy waterfall to soak their hair and skin…how could that be false?

"No. He hasn't done anything to me," she retorted, rising from her chair. He hadn't done anything….except break her heart. "What we have is true love. Sometimes true love can't be explained…it just happens." Already her father was shaking his head, combing a shaky hand through his thinning hair.

At that moment, the air seemed to change, a thin draft wafting through the kitchen. Belle shivered and was suddenly reminded that all she had on was the sleeveless blue dress she'd donned inside Rumpelstiltskin's shop. Sleeveless blue dress…sleeveless…

Her nerves bunched in warning of the crucial detail she'd missed. Hastily, she lunged for her coat, but it was already too late. Her father omitted a harsh gasp and lumbered forward, his eyes widened in apprehension as he stared down at something Belle had forgotten to acknowledge.

Her scars.

Her father stumbled and caught her wrists in his hands. Slowly, he turned them over so that the jagged white scars were exposed for the both of them to see.

"Belle, what has he…? Did he do this to you? Did he hurt you?"

Belle tugged her wrists away and slipped her coat on to hide the scars that Regina had given her so long ago. By the sound of her father's voice, he was prepared to knock on Rumpelstiltskin's door with a weapon in hand and try to protect Belle by giving him a piece of his mind. That wasn't what she wanted at all.

"He didn't do this to me! It was Regina. After she locked me away, I tried to escape and she…she dragged a burning rod of iron across my skin," she choked out. Her father cringed at the idea of Belle's punishment. The actuality was much worse than it sounded.

Her mind was already reminiscing about the evil hiss the rod made as it scarred her soft flesh, the pain so great that screaming was beyond release. If anyone was evil, it was the Queen. Belle would never be able to forget the mocking, echoing laughter and cruel red smile on the Queen's lips as she suffered under her thumb.

"I know you think otherwise, but he would never do this to me. Never." Her father turned away, his shoulders sagging. She could tell by the pain in his face that he still didn't believe it. Rubbing a hand across his jaw, he held onto the counter for support.

"Belle, there is no such thing as true love for a monster like him," he argued, slapping his palm against the counter.

Never had she seen her father so bitter toward a person before. Most of his strength had died with her mother. But now his lip curled in a sneer, and the wheels of revenge spun in his head. It made her curl her fists by her sides and fuel her desire to defend Rumpelstiltskin's honor. He was so much different around her than he was around other people.

"You're wrong. He is not a monster." The fight simmered out of her as she recalled the way he'd used magic over her. It was the worst thing he'd ever done to her, including the way he'd sent her away from his castle. She sighed and released the tension in her hands. "It doesn't matter, anyway. He chose power over love…so I left."

She didn't need to add _for now_. It came across loud and clear.

"That doesn't surprise me," her father muttered. Apparently the fight was breaking down inside him as well. She hated their reunion being spoiled so quickly. "After what he's done to me on Valentine's Day. I still have the bruises." Her father rubbed his shoulder and winced from the soreness.

"Valentine's Day? Bruises?" She tried to recall Rumpelstiltskin mentioning anything about Valentine's Day. But of course, if something horrible happened, he would not have brought it up. He would pretend it never happened. "Papa, what are you talking about?"

"That doesn't surprise me, either. The fact that he hasn't told you all he's done when you weren't with him. There's no hope for him, Belle. It's a lost cause."

An ill twisting began in Belle's stomach. Her instincts were telling her that this was something she would not want to hear. It was too late—her curiosity was peaked. Her mind would not be at ease until she knew.

"Papa…" Her father's eyes were unforgiving and cold as he leveled his gaze at her. There was a flash of regret, as if he truly did not want to unload the burden on her shoulders, but the words were already planted on his tongue.

"Belle, he beat me with his cane that night. He beat me nearly to death."

….

_**Dun, dun, dun! Well, that went….well, didn't it? As I said, our favorite imp will be back in the next chapter, though I think Belle might have a bone or two to pick with him. (-; **_

_**I don't know about you guys, but I am certainly looking forward to the Rumpel/Hook-centric episode that is coming up this weekend. Apparently, we are going to be getting some more Rumbelle drama! Le gasp! **_

_**But first, I must give thanks to all my reviewers and supporters! You guys are awesome. Did I ever tell you that? **_

_**I hereby raise a chipped cup to: Romance and Musicals, thedoctorsgirl42, discotimelord, Grace5231973, Bluecanbegreen, SqueakyDolphin6, juju0268, shaylove, rene10, DragonRose4, and MangaGrl2665. **_

_**Thanks everyone for reading!**_


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N: Phew, this is an exciting chapter I have in store for you, my lovely readers! I know a lot of you have missed Jefferson. And, like I promised, our favorite imp has returned to make up for the last chapter. I hope everyone enjoys it! **_

It took a full half hour of her father's bitter, incessant repeating for the idea of that Valentine's Day tragedy to make sense inside her mind.

By then, the smashed bottle of Coca-Cola was long forgotten on the counter, the shards of glass glittering in the beams of sunlight. The soda had ceased to be a liquid, instead growing sticky over the surface of the counter; a murky brown puddle. The sunlight was waning little by little, the slats across the floor dimming as the afternoon stretched on as normal.

And yet Belle couldn't help but feel separated from that world where the afternoon drew onward, where the sunlight passed in its unending rotation across the Earth. Sitting in that kitchen chair, with her father's steely eyes observing her like an overprotective hawk keeping tabs on its young, she felt stuck in a black hole.

Rumpelstiltskin had brutally beaten her father. That was what her father kept telling her, right? His lips moved but the words hardly made sense anymore. Yes, he had beaten him with his cane, over and over. Beaten him nearly to death.

Having collapsed numbly into the chair, Belle hunched forward with her palms clasping her trembling knees, trying to process it. Her eyes—her witty, brilliant blue eyes—roamed the kitchen but saw none of it now. Her mind was elsewhere, picturing that lovely cabin in the woods where Rumpelstiltskin had held her heart. Her father remained leaning against the counter, visibly stiff in his discomfort of not knowing the words to say to ease the turmoil brewing like a tornado inside her.

It couldn't be true. Surely not…

Of course she would never think her father was lying to her—he knew how much truth was sacred to her. But she was reluctant to believe that her true love would resort to such violent measures. And over what, exactly? No, her father must be mistaken with his false memories.

And yet…

Belle recalled the way his behavior had abruptly shifted after she had kissed him that first and last time in his castle. Bristling, golden eyes molten with rage, his rough hands squeezing her forearms and shaking her until her head rolled painfully on her neck, those lips that she had so pleasurably kissed curling back to bare his teeth as he yelled.

All too easily, that image was eclipsed by another that was less of a memory and more of a daydream. It frightened her how quickly she could imagine Gold's features twisting and contorting the same monstrous way as the cane struck flesh time after time. It made Belle gasp aloud and press a hand to her lips.

And then there was Emma.

Hadn't she witnessed Rumpelstiltskin subdue Emma in the cabin with a thunderous blow to the head? Granted, she had only been awoken by the commotion, but she could remember gazing strangely down at Emma's limp form and then up at Rumpelstiltskin, who had been in the process of lowering his cane back to his side.

Could he be capable of beating her father to death? It startled her—scared her—to admit that the answer was undeniably yes. Yes, he was fully capable of committing such a deadly act if he was convinced he was in the right to do so. It was the type of logic he used to pardon any devastating act he made.

Belle sank her head into her hands in despair, the curls of her dark hair sweeping down over her shoulders and tickling her bare skin. She didn't know what to do anymore—everything seemed to be crumbling at her feet. How was she expected to gather the pieces and build her sanctuary again?

"Belle, I am sorry you had to hear it from me," her father murmured, though he did not dare draw close to her. There was a note of remorse in his voice; she supposed he honestly did feel perturbed with watching his daughter fall to pieces in his kitchen. His kitchen, not theirs. "But I did tell you, didn't I? That man is a monster. He has no heart. You have no business being with him."

The regret had been replaced with immovable firmness, her father's mind unchanged. If anything, the news of the Valentine's Day incident offered him more incentive to change her mind.

She couldn't stand being in this kitchen anymore. She couldn't take listening to her father gladly condemn Rumpelstiltskin as nothing more than a beast, even if he did deserve some verbal lashing for beating her father nearly to death. She couldn't breathe.

"Why did he do it?" Belle kept her head lowered, her father hidden from sight beyond the veil of her locks. Even so, she could almost hear the creak of his aging bones as they grinded to a halt.

"I…I don't know, Belle. Why does a monster crave terrorizing sheep? It's simply in his nature. If you ask me, he enjoys it," he answered. Beneath the veil, Belle squeezed her sore eyes shut. Her nerves pounded inside her skull. Her lungs burned as she almost forgot to inhale fresh air.

Her father was lying.

There was that moment of hesitation in his voice. If she glanced up, she would bet every coin she owned that her father would be staring hard at the cracked tile floor. It was what he did every time he so much as told a white lie. Once in their castle, he'd assured her he hadn't eaten the last biscuit during tea time, but there was that same intensity directed at the floor.

Releasing a ragged breath, Belle raised her head. Instantly, a stone crushed her chest. She was right; her father was concentrating all his focus toward the floor, avoiding the weight of her gaze.

Of all the people to lie to her today, she never expected it to be her father. Fathers were supposed to protect their daughters, encourage honesty; not favor the expense of lying. All she had ever asked of him, besides the occasional book, was the truth. To trust her, to allow her to make her own choices.

"No," she hissed. "He must have had a good reason to do what he did. Stop using that disgusting term as an excuse, papa."

Her father's head whipped upwards, his eyes widened with disbelief as he finally met her eyes. She was vaguely aware of her hands curling into uncomfortable fists on her knees, her nails creating half-moons in her skin.

"A good reason?" Belle winced as he flung her words back at her. He shoved his weight off the counter, only taking a step forward. "Belle, you're not taking his side?" Suddenly, the chair could not contain her any longer. Shooting to her feet, Belle squared her shoulders angrily.

"I'm not taking sides! I'm asking you for your side of the story!" Her voice broke, raw from the tenure of sour emotions pulling the strings of her heart. Her father opened his mouth and then decidedly closed it again. All she would get from him was silence, not an explanation. It made her lips dip into a frown. "Why is it so difficult for anyone to tell me the truth?"

Her father's palm struck the counter, directly over the sticky pile of Coca-Cola. The impact made her jump slightly, the sharp sound ricocheting off the walls.

"I am telling you the truth," he roared back, ignoring the fact that some of the sticky residue coated his palm. She shook her head wistfully. A thick lump was forming in her throat—she wanted out of this house now, before it choked her completely.

"No, you're not. Evading the question is still lying. I suppose you two have more in common than you think," she snapped. Immediately, she regretted it as her father's resolve crumbled, paling significantly. It didn't sit right with him that she'd just compared him with her beast. She raked a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. This was why she hated arguments—everyone always said things they did not mean. "I need to go to him. I need to hear this from him."

Spinning on her heel, Belle strode in the direction of the door, seeking the fresh air and vast world beyond it. Behind her, her father's footsteps thundered against the tiled floor in pursuit.

"You're honestly willing to listen to his deceit?" Belle's mind was already made up—there was little chance of changing it. Still, she shook her head in response as her hand clamped down over the doorknob. It was cold, a shiver skating up her arm.

"I'll know if he's lying to me," she responded over her shoulder. Apparently, that was not good enough for her father, whose hand slammed against the door to keep it from opening. She released a frustrated breath and reluctantly turned to face him, noting the anxiety creasing his brow.

"No, you won't. If the Devil lies long enough, it might become truth to him," he protested. Belle's hand slipped away from the doorknob and she staggered back. She crossed her arms, perhaps to shield the pulsing of her heart, which was surely throbbing out of control.

"So, now he's the Devil?" Refusing to glance directly at her, he buried his fists in his pockets. Her lip trembled as she came to terms with his answer. Instead of climbing uphill, she was only sinking deeper into a bottomless pit, wasn't she? It would never be good enough. "I love him, papa! Despite the mistakes he's made, I love him."

"Mistakes? He nearly killed me—deliberately, might I add—and you're still ready to stand by him," he growled, pointing an accusing finger at her chest. It might as well have been poking a hole in her lungs. "You would play _mistress _to your father's _murderer!" _

There went her lungs. Deflating without any hope of resuscitation. Withering like balloons whose air is escaping through the tiniest of holes. Heat shaded Belle's neck and rose to her cheeks as she scrutinized her father in shock.

"I am not his mistress! I am not something he uses and throws away! It's true love—there is no stopping it. And besides, he didn't kill you," she pointed out. No, he just left her father with odd bruises marking his skin and a couple of broken bones that he had no money to pay for. Suddenly, her face was not the only one turning red.

"Damn it, Belle, he would have! If the Sheriff didn't stop him when she did, I'd be six feet under the ground, probably buried in the woods. But then you wouldn't be here, would you? You wouldn't be standing in this kitchen; you'd be with him! Forgetting all about your father for him!"

Belle pressed a hand to her chest and could feel the intense swelling of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Why was it impossible for her father to understand? And why did they have to resort to arguing so bitterly? Each word was a drop of acid eating away at her delicate skin.

"He makes me happy, papa! You always told me you wanted me to be happy." He threw his hands in the air in frustration, his shoulders sagging tiredly.

"Yes, I do. I want you to be happy, Belle. But how can you honestly tell me you'd be happy with a beast? You've no consideration for how I feel about my daughter running headfirst into danger, not even caring about her family. If your mother was alive now, you'd sure as hell be disappointing her, too."

Belle's head whipped back, her skin paling until it was white as the clouds that dotted the blue sky outside. Everything seemed to come to a full grinding halt as her father's words sank into her mind, poisoning it. Warm water clouded underneath her eyelids and it was painful to draw in a breath. The fight blew out of her as she replayed it in her head: _if your mother was alive…you'd be disappointing her, too. _

Her father must have realized how harsh he had broken her, for he rushed forward, his palms spread wide in surrender.

"Oh, no, Belle. I didn't mean—"

It was too late. Wiping her cheeks angrily, Belle wrapped her jacket tighter around her and pulled the kitchen door open. A gust of wind flowed inside, though it was no contest to the icy chill that had squeezed her beating heart. Only once did she look back at her father, and it was not with any kindness.

"I've made my choice." And, leaving him to stare after her and drown in her last words, Belle stormed out of the kitchen, resolutely slamming the door behind her.

* * *

><p>...<p>

Long walks usually helped Belle in the grand scheme of things. It helped to clear her mind and allow the process of sifting through her worries to come much easier. Oftentimes, she had no clue where her feet were heading and oftentimes she did not have the room to care.

This time, she found her legs carrying her up a hill on the outskirts of town. The sun was bright as it smoldered overhead, but it would be impossible to miss the mansion sitting at the very top. She remembered hearing about it once, during her stay at the cabin.

Jefferson must have seen her coming through one of his…heliscopes? No…_telescope._ That was the word. Belle couldn't seem to form a mental image of it without the fragments of her false memories, but the relief of her mind told her she had the right idea.

Before she even raised a hand to knock on the front door, it flew inward and there he was, studying her with a mixture of pleasant surprise and roaming concern.

"Belle? What's happened? Are you hurt?" Was she hurt? It depended on the definition of hurt. Physically, no. Emotionally…she was a wreck. Arms crossed against the wind, a trail of dry tears marking her cheeks, she could barely hold it together as she met his eye.

"Can I come in? I'm sorry for just showing up like this—" Her words trailed off as Jefferson stepped aside to let her pass. As she did, he kindly offered to take her jacket. With a fire roaring in the marble fireplace, it was quite toasty inside.

"No, it's fine. I was just…" He motioned to the telescope in the corner. His head dipped in silent permission and she drew close to it. Tracing the outline of it with her fingers, she bent forward and peered through it like Jefferson had described.

Immediately, she could clearly see the interior of a house and a family sitting at a kitchen table even though they must be miles away in town. The three of them wore matching expressions of distress and she could fill in the blanks as their mouths moved. They were probably trying to figure out this curse. There was a mother, a father, and…

Belle gasped with sudden recognition. Those tearful, wide brown eyes; the delicate light strands of hair framing a gentle face; the dimples in her cheeks as she tried to be brave enough to smile. It was Grace. Belle straightened up and leveled a sympathetic look at Jefferson, showing that she understood what she had seen.

"You watch over her," she whispered. Jefferson nodded and kicked off from the wall where he had been leaning. He crossed the room and gazed out the bay window, as if he could see Grace without the power of the telescope.

"Of course I do," he muttered. "She's my daughter."

As much as he tried to shield it, she caught the strain in his voice, tight as piano wire. He sniffed once, his lips flattening to keep the sadness from pouring out. Being apart from Grace was taking its toll. Belle wondered, looking at his slightly thin frame, if he'd even been caring for himself properly.

"Why don't you go to her? The curse is broken. I'm sure she's wondering where you are. She misses you," she stated matter-of-factly. She remembered the way Grace had been so broken in the Queen's care, dismissing all the riches offered to her in favor of the longing she felt for her father. Jefferson's expression became increasingly pained as he gazed distantly through that window.

"She won't forgive me…for leaving her," he sighed. "I broke my promise. She'll hate me." Belle lightly placed a hand to his arm and his body jerked in response as if she'd burned him.

"Yes, she will. Forgive you, I mean," she assured him, but he shook his head dubiously. "When the Queen took her, you were all she talked about. Always another story of how wonderful her father was and how much she missed him. Don't you see? Grace forgave you long ago."

Jefferson sucked in a ragged breath and turned away from the telescope. He started off for the hallway and she sensed he wanted her to follow him. Regarding the telescope one last time, she rushed to catch up with his long strides. He led her into the living room, which was complete with a white leather couch, a mahogany coffee table, a grand piano, and the marble fireplace.

"Would you like some tea?" Jefferson poured two teacups full of steaming tea without waiting for her answer. Grimly, he handed her a cup and she gratefully accepted it, taking a small sip. It was delicious and soothing as it traveled down her throat. "Now, why are you here? Judging by the way you power-walked up that hill, I expect you weren't just in the neighborhood to say hello."

Belle smoothed her blue dress and sank onto the couch, the teacup balanced in her lap. As Jefferson had stared out that window, she found her attention focused on the crackling flames in the fireplace.

"My father told me…my mother would have been disappointed in me," she choked out, the despicable taste of the words lingering on her tongue and the roof of her mouth like the world's thickest peanut butter. For a long, silent moment, she stared down into the teacup, her stricken face reflected in the surface.

There was a groan of the floor as Jefferson moved and then he settled on the couch beside her. It was difficult for him to be this close to someone, she knew, but she was glad for his comforting presence all the same.

"Do you honestly believe that?" There was an odd, honeyed humor dancing in his voice, as if he found this to be amusing. She glanced up, ready to glare at him for being so inconsiderate, but the warmth of his eyes caught her off guard. It melted all the anger and hurt away until all that was left was a struggle to understand.

"I…I don't know," she sighed.

Never had she uttered that phrase before—she was the girl who could always find the answer hidden in a book. Now she was like a young naïve girl trapped in the largest library known to man, searching for an answer but having no clue as to which shelf to start looking.

She had no idea where to turn anymore without getting hurt. First Rumpelstiltskin, then her father…At least she could trust Jefferson not to do that. If he did, she figured her heart would permanently combust.

Slowly, Jefferson reached out and rubbed her tense back. She smiled through the ache, knowing he was trying his best to comfort her. She suspected he'd never had much experience with comforting broken, emotional women before.

"Don't believe it, Belle. Your father…" His words trailed off—she knew he was trying to find the right words to say. He removed his hand from her back and hunched forward in his seat. "Okay, your father's a jerk."

Despite the care she unconditionally still held for her father, she shook her head wistfully at Jefferson's bluntness.

"That type of attitude is not helping matters," she pointed out. He ignored her protest.

"But I'm sure it bothers him that his daughter is seeing someone he doesn't approve of. He may be trying to protect you, but…he shouldn't have said that. Fathers are supposed to be there to protect their daughters and catch them when they fall. They're not supposed to be the ones that hurt you in the first place."

Belle caught the underlying meaning in his words. He was beating himself up again over Grace. They were rocking in the same boat—he wanted so desperately to reunite with Grace and be happy, but he didn't know how.

"Maybe you should ask him what he thinks," Jefferson suggested. Belle's brow furrowed with confusion. "Rumpelstiltskin. He'll tell you the same thing. Except he'll most likely knock on your father's door and add a few more bruises to his collection."

Belle felt a stone drop into her stomach as she realized that she could never really ask Rumpelstiltskin about any of this without risking his anger. She knew he wanted to protect her, to grant her happiness, but sometimes the price was just too demanding.

"What happened on Valentine's Day?"

Belle's hands curled around the teacup, her skin soaking up the warmth that seeped from it. Jefferson cleared his throat, as though prepared to tell a fabulous tale. Part of her did not want to hear it, but she knew she would require the whole story before confronting Rumpelstiltskin or fixing this matter.

"Your father was late paying the rent to Mr. Gold, so his truck was taken from him. Regina convinced him to break into Gold's house and steal some of his possessions," he explained carefully. Belle scooted forward on the couch, a deep frown forming on her rosy lips and her head shaking negatively.

"My father would never—" Jefferson held up a calm hand to silence her.

"Let me finish," he requested. When he was reassured of her undivided attention, he continued. "Your father may not do that, but Moe French did. Emma got most of the stuff back, resourceful as she is. But there was one thing missing. Something Regina wanted as a bargaining chip. Can you guess what that object might be?"

Belle remained silent, heeding Jefferson's earlier request. Still, her instincts were already offering up an answer. She looked down at the teacup in her lap and almost expected to find a chip in the rim.

"That's right," Jefferson praised her connecting of the dots. "The chipped cup—your chipped cup. The last piece he had of your memory." The way he spelled it out for her, it made the pulse in her throat quicken. She didn't know whether to be appalled or impressed that Rumpelstiltskin only resorted to such violence in her honor. "He obviously knew it was your father that broke into his house and stole the cup, so he captured him, took him to the cabin in the woods and…"

Jefferson made a crude motion of swinging, as though he were gripping a baseball bat. All Belle pictured was a cane.

"How do you know all this?" Jefferson gave a half-smile and gestured to the telescope in the other room.

"When you have nothing but time on your hands, you learn to notice the world around you. Even if you're not really a part of it," he said morosely. Belle placed the teacup on a coaster on the coffee table and folded her hands in her lap. After a second's thought, she stood to her feet. "Leaving so soon?"

Belle turned to look down at Jefferson and nodded.

"Thank you, Jefferson. But I've still got a problem that I need to fix. Tonight," she said as she crossed the room to retrieve her jacket. Somehow, Jefferson had managed to follow on her heels and helped her into it.

"Belle?" She paused with her hand on the cool, round doorknob. It reminded her of those last, terrible moments with her father and she squeezed her eyes shut. Was history about to repeat itself? Would bitter words be flung that would leave her to storm out in anger? No, this was Jefferson.

When she turned back, Jefferson was watching her intently, his head tilted on speculation. There was a light lift to the corners of his lips and she wondered how silly she must be to be fearful that her good friend would hurt her. Gently, his hand reached out to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ears.

"I can't believe I'm saying this…maybe it's the tea. But don't be too rough on him. What he did wasn't the most charming thing in the world…but he did it for you. Sometimes, you'd be surprised what one person will do to conserve a sacred memory, especially when it involves the person they love most."

Belle recalled the way Emma claimed Jefferson had held her captive all for the sake of reuniting with his daughter. Her heart swelled and a light, promising smile touched her lips. Without a word of protest, she opened the door and fled into the late afternoon.

Only once, as she began the descent toward town, did she pause and glance back at the bay window. Somehow, she knew Jefferson would be watching.

* * *

><p>Belle paced outside the pawnshop, debating with herself whether she was ready for the sore confrontation that was licking at her heels.<p>

What if he wasn't there? What if he returned to find her there, in his shop? What would she say then? Granted, the sign read 'Closed', but there was still a dim light shining inside the shop. She suspected it was a ploy because he'd rather be left alone to his thoughts.

And all the while, her own thoughts were running wild on a racetrack. In all honesty, Rumpelstiltskin was the only man that could make every bit of learned logic fly out the window. He was the only man that could drive her this insane.

It was now or never. Better to do it now while Jefferson's words were still fresh in her ears.

Breathing deeply, Belle pulled the door open and stepped inside, the sharp jingle of the bell announcing her presence. At first there was thick silence and she truly did wonder if Rumpelstiltskin hadn't left, perhaps to get some dinner. Then there was a telltale tapping and the curtain was raked aside.

"I put that sign there for a reason. The shop is…"

Immediately his words halted as his brown eyes realized the identity of his so-called 'customer.' She smiled gently, daring to take a couple of steps forward into the glow of the lamp.

"Belle," he whispered in awe, as if she were a vision coming to his window in the dead of night. He was staring at her the way he had the night they'd reunited, despite the fact that she had been Isabella French. There was obvious affection, wonder, and beneath that…disbelief.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

She approached the counter and noticed he had barely moved from his spot. She wondered if he was even still breathing properly. Stumbling forward, he extended a hand and laid it over hers, like she needed to be stopped from retreating. She lightly clasped his hand and squeezed.

"No, of course not," he murmured, gazing down at her fair hand. Frowning, she removed it from his grasp, causing his eyebrows to knit together in question.

"You beat my father on Valentine's Day," she said, keeping her voice flat and calm, the rough tidal wave of emotions masked. Regret flashed through Rumpelstiltskin's brown eyes, his expression darkening enough to confirm everything her father and Jefferson told her.

"Belle, I—"

"And I know about the chipped cup," she intercepted before he could begin to grovel at her feet. If the counter hadn't been separating their bodies, she was sure Rumpelstiltskin might try to pull her to him. Instead, he opted to lean his weight against the counter, as if he could force it out of the way.

"You know," he repeated softly. "Does that mean…you forgive me?" Belle nearly winced at the desperate plea embedded in his voice. She had to be strong; she could not fall to pieces before him.

"I don't forgive you…for everything," she clarified. Judging by the way the regret increased and sent waves of anxiety across his face, he knew she was referring to the magic. Specifically, the way he had used it over her. Still, he seemed willing to let her have her say. "You hurt me. You treated me like I was a possession that belonged to you. Am I really worth so little?"

"Belle…"

Her name drawled from his mouth, but it was resigned, as though he knew nothing could stop Belle from saying exactly what was on her mind. And he would be right. Body trembling with the rush of anger, eyes decidedly hard as chipped ice, Belle pummeled forward.

"I thought you and I were on the same page. I know what you did on Valentine's Day, you did for me. And bringing magic here…I suppose that was for me, too?" It came out harsher than she meant it; she realized it as Rumpelstiltskin flinched. His fingers curled over the head of his cane, turning white in their effort.

"No," he admitted, but refused to elaborate. Belle shook her head pitifully as he avoided her seeking eyes.

"Where do I fit in your life, Rumpelstiltskin? Just tell me that much. You_ owe_ me that much." Instantly, he slammed his fist against the counter, a thunderous noise that made her jump at least a foot.

"It was for my son!"

The admission startled Belle to the point where she fell into an uneasy silence, not knowing what to say in response to that. The anger drained out of her as she watched Rumpelstiltskin's face twist in anguish and misery. He refused to look at her, perhaps because he was afraid of the kind of emotions he might see.

"Why didn't you just tell me earlier?" Belle sighed tiredly and scanned his face, hoping to catch his eye. Slowly, he lifted his head, though it obviously took a great deal of effort for him to meet her gaze.

"I tried, remember? You refused to listen," he said. And then he used magic to stop her in her tracks. She knew the story, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear. Letting her legs lead her, she circled the counter until she was standing before him, only a foot or so away. If her hand drifted forward, her fingers would brush his suit.

"No, you could have told me before that moment. You knew what you were going to do when you dropped the bottle of true love into that well. When you designed this curse. You planned it alone." Always alone, never allowing anyone to keep up with him. He didn't trust anyone enough to do so. Now, he didn't deny it—he only shrugged.

"What choice did I have? No one—not one soul in the Enchanted Forest—could understand," he muttered back. He tried to move past her, but she stood her ground. Exhaling impatiently, he stared down at her expectantly.

"I could understand if you would just let me in. You had the choice to tell me. _Emma_ would have understood," she pointed out. Lips curling back over his teeth, he audibly scoffed. Belle perked an eyebrow. "You don't think she would ever sacrifice everything in her power for her child?"

"Belle, until you've sacrificed everything, you don't know the weight of what you're giving up. Until then, imagination is futile and words mean nothing."

He tried to turn away, aiming for the open section of the counter that wasn't blocked, but Belle lunged forward to catch him by the arm. Easily he could have shaken her off, but instead he glanced down at the hand resting on the crook of his arm, keeping him rooted. His face seemed to crumble at her silent demands.

"I've never spoken about Bae to anyone before," he whispered. It sounded like a revelation, something he just discovered. Belle's blue eyes watched him carefully, unwilling to allow her hand to part with his arm. Thankfully, he didn't seem ready to shake her off, either.

"Then maybe it's time to start," she replied, drawing closer and running her hand along his sleeved arm. All the while, his brown eyes followed her movements with undeniable want. "I think you've been alone for far too long, Rumpelstiltskin."

Before she realized what she was doing, she was surrounded in his embrace, her head laid against his shoulder. She truly missed his touch, even after everything he'd done. Gently, his arms wrapped around her and his fingers stroked the strands of her dark hair lovingly. His lips buried into her hair, his breath warming her skin.

"I am…sorry," he murmured solemnly into the crown of her head, a difficult feat for him to achieve. Nestling her cheek into the collar of his suit, she was pleased that he was making the effort. "Belle, I want so much to give you everything." She stepped away, just enough to tilt her head and gaze up at him.

"I've already told you. I don't want everything." He arched an eyebrow, catching the key word in her sentence. Always so skilled with words, something he would never let her forget. Words were his weapons as well as his chains.

"Not everything? Then…what _do_ you want?" He studied her with suspicion and made a subtle flicker towards her fingers. Down to the floor his attention traveled and then back up to her face. The corner of her lips rose as she realized what he was assuming.

"I'm not asking you to marry me," she said and was quite enticed by the fact that his response was not one of relief. He actually looked a little…disappointed. No matter. "I think I can forgive you. In exchange for an ultimatum," she proposed. She could tell Rumpelstiltskin was impressed by her bravado as he gave her a generous once-over.

"Do my ears deceive me? Or am I rubbing off on you more than I thought?"

Belle actually laughed, a blush rising to her cheeks. In a matter of a moment, she reigned in her euphoria at having stunned him and became the serious negotiator once more. It felt odd to wear that title in front of the realm's most powerful dealmaker.

"I want for you to stop referring to yourself as a monster. Self-ridiculing isn't healthy for anyone," she stated. Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips and nodded eagerly.

"Done," he agreed. Belle held up a finger, stopping his enthusiasm cold.

"I'm not finished," she warned, earning an unpleasant scowl.

Escaping from his grasp, she paced before him as she considered her next requests. The only sound was the clacking of her heels, the hollow resounding matching the beat of her racing heart.

"I want you to prevent magic from getting to your head. I want to meet everyone in town—I'm sure they still need help." He waited a mere second before smirking.

"And that is everything? I've never met anyone as selfless as you, my dear," he complimented her, making a small, flourishing bow before her. "Is that all? An ice sculpture of yourself, perhaps, so that I may accentuate my affection?" Belle laughed again—that was twice in a row he'd gotten to her. At least it made him smile in return.

"No…but I do want your love and to be able to love you in return. No more shutting me out, no matter how much you believe it's for my own good. No more binding me with magic. No one decides my fate but me," she declared, as defiant as that night in her castle. Rumpelstiltskin lightly took her hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing it. She had missed that, too.

"Deal."

Belle led the way to the shop's door after Rumpelstiltskin prepared everything for the night and extinguished the lamp's glow. As they emerged into the chilly evening air, Belle linked her arm through his. Taking their time, they walked along the street together. Belle's stomach began to grumble.

"One more thing. Do you think…we could get some dinner?" He paused in step and smiled down at her, his brown eyes gleaming devilishly.

"I'm afraid that condition wasn't in the ultimatum," he reminded her. She frowned just as her stomach let out another obnoxious roar. "But I suppose I can make an exception for you." Belle smiled gratefully and they began to walk again, baring their close connection to the world.

"Have you ever had a hamburger? I heard Granny's makes a great one."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Okay, I just loved that bit about the hamburger so much in the fourth episode, I had to add it in here. Who knows? Maybe you'll get to see their dinner date in the next chapter. <strong>_

_**Don't worry—I've got many more plans for this story. There's a little bit of Jefferson and Emma, plenty of Rumbelle, and a few surprises here and there. **_

_**For those of you who caught this week's episode…what did you all think of it? Did anyone guess Dr. Whale's identity right? I won't spoil it for those who have not seen it yet. **_

_**And last but not least, I must give thanks to all my lovely reviewers out there! Where would I be without all of your support? Here's to: aradiaeva, Romance and Musicals, Immortalis Charitas, Ruby Red-ink, discotimelord, writindownsouth, rene10, Bluecanbegreen, and Guest. **_

_**Thank you all so much for reading!**_

espite the


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! Just a little sweet chapter for you this time. Hamburgers, anyone? Enjoy! **_

"Who is she?"

"Do you see her?"

"Has she come from _out there?"_

The diner was alive with whispers of the beautiful girl in blue accompanying Rumpelstiltskin to dinner. Peering over the tops of their menus, dozens of eyes watched the two as they basked in each other's company. For certain, they had never seen the all-powerful pawnbroker enjoy someone else's presence before. Especially not one of the opposite sex.

"Red?" Granny paused in closing the register and she almost slammed her fingers in the drawer. She called over her shoulder for the girl without moving her eyes from the pair in the corner booth. She'd had to clean her glasses on her apron, just to be sure she was seeing it right.

"Yes, Granny?" Red skittered past with an empty pot of coffee and a new order to be filled. The girl was much better at keeping up with orders since her sensitive hearing allowed her to pick up on a customer's decided order before she even tended to their table.

"Who is that?" Granny dipped her head subtly in the direction of Rumpelstiltskin's table. Sidling up to her, Red followed her gaze and planted a hand on her hip. An amused smile curved her lips.

"_That _would be Rumpelstiltskin. Storybrooke alias: Mr. Gold, the cheap gimp who visits us once a month like Mother Nature's surprise to collect rent and threaten to run our diner out of business. Maybe you don't recognize him anymore without the creepy gold skin and leather pants," she answered smartly. Granny broke from her trance long enough to roll up a newspaper and smack the back of Red's head.

"You're not the only one with ears, you know! Watch your mouth," she scolded in a low hiss. "Not _him_. I meant the girl. Who is she?"

Red rubbed the back of her head in her own effort to chide Granny, but her lips could not resist pulling into a full-toothed grin. Her dark, heavily-lidded eyes gleamed as she observed the object of Granny's interest, laughing at something Rumpelstiltskin said. The way the customers looked, a zebra could pass by riding a unicycle and that wouldn't have been as strange as the situation in that corner booth.

"Oh, _her. _That would be Belle," Red said nonchalantly as she inclined her head slightly to attune to the words being exchanged. Oh, they were here for hamburgers….and Granny's iced tea. This sensitive hearing could have done wonders for Ruby's gossip habits. As she prepared the drinks, she smirked at Granny's astonishment. "You know, they say her name means _beauty._"

Before Granny could respond to that sentiment, Red dug out her worn little notepad—not that she entirely needed it these days—and willingly dashed off with the drinks to take their order. In all honesty, Red had never seen Rumpelstiltskin—or Gold—smile or laugh so easily. Ah, love.

"Belle," Red called out as she neared their table. Belle's head immediately whipped around, the rich strands of her hair illuminated by the soft glow of the world beyond the window. When she caught sight of Red, she smiled brightly with instant recognition.

"Ruby. I mean, Red. Sorry," she quickly corrected herself, blushing fiercely at her mistake. Red casually waved it off with a flick of her wrist, causing the drinks to nearly spill over.

"Red, Ruby…I'm practically one and the same now. I've been getting a mixture of both from customers all morning," she explained patiently. Belle tilted her head as she studied Red's lack of a waitressing uniform. Instead, she was clad in a buttoned plaid shirt, washed-out jeans, and lace-up boots.

"You work here?" Red nodded vigorously. She ignored Rumpelstiltskin's impatient pout as he pretended to read over the menu.

She was surprised he didn't reprimand her for slow service or make some obnoxious, "holier-than-thou" comment about her waitressing skills, but then he must be purposefully biting his tongue for Belle's sake. Red liked her even more.

"Yep. It's just me and Granny," she said, awkwardly pointing a finger over her shoulder at the woman behind the bar. The woman with the crossbow; she recalled. Belle did not hold Granny's gaze long even as it became clear that she was watching their table like a hawk. "Thankfully, she doesn't bring the crossbow into the diner. I finally convinced her to stop with those silly uniforms, too. Have you seen how embarrassingly short that red skirt was? It's amazing my legs didn't freeze off in the winter."

Even though he was staring intently at the menu, Rumpelstiltskin's neck began to flush the same shade of crimson as her old uniform. Obviously he_ had_ noticed, even if Belle never had the chance. Before Belle could respond to the matter, Red shifted the glasses in her hand and waved her notepad insistently.

"So, what can I get you? Oh, iced tea?" She set the iced teas on the table and worked the cramp from her wrist. Belle's mouth made a surprised 'O' and a finger reached out to touch the glass as if she thought the drinks might be an illusion. Red grinned wolfishly while she jotted the iced teas down, just so Granny wouldn't have her head for slacking off on her job.

"How did you know?" Yeah, she'd been getting that a lot this morning as well. Apparently it irked people to know that she was almost a mind reader when it came to their orders. Red motioned a hand to her ears.

"My senses have been extra sensitive now that the curse is broken. It must be a full moon tonight," Red explained as she stretched her muscles. They always seemed to grow increasingly tense whenever that time of the month came about. "So, iced tea and…"

"Two hamburgers, dearie. I expect mine to be cooked medium-rare with lettuce, tomato, and absent of any condiments," Rumpelstiltskin announced briskly, leaving Red to roll her eyes as she hurried to scratch it down on the notepad.

"Yeah, I know. I've been serving you for the last three decades," she huffed. Rumpelstiltskin shot her a dark glare, but she brushed it off. Unruly customers weren't new, either. Instead, she slapped her hand down on the table and turned full-circle to Belle. "And how about yours?"

Belle eagerly hunched forward and opened her mouth to answer…but nothing came out. Eyebrows knitting together, Red waited as she obviously struggled to find the correct answer. It seemed she hadn't a clue. Had Belle really never had a hamburger before? What did they do in that hospital? Feed her through a tube?

"Medium-well for her, I believe," Rumpelstiltskin declared, coming to Belle's rescue as the knight in not-so-shining armor he seemed to be. He whisked both menus at Red, his body language telling her to scurry off. She scribbled the order down only after a nod of confirmation from Belle.

"Yes, father," Red muttered under her breath. It earned her a stony expression from Rumpelstiltskin, coupled with a narrowing of the eyes that would not have been visible had she not been looking. Testy, wasn't he? "I mean…coming right up." Snatching up the menus, Red strutted off the fill the order and dropped her forced smile the minute she turned her back on him.

Suddenly, she remembered why she had never enjoyed waiting on Gold. Some things never changed.

….

"Red seems very nice," Belle mused warmly as she watched the waitress hurry off to fill in their order. Across from her, Rumpelstiltskin was fixing his tie and made a low _'hmph_.'

"Pleasant," he murmured half-heartedly. Belle's attention was directed back to him and his lack of enthusiasm. Resting her arms flat on the table, she gave him a questioning look.

"You don't like her?" He glanced up to meet her eye, his hands falling away from his tie. He suddenly seemed very nervous, lines of anxiety creasing the skin around his eyes. By the exasperated expression clouding his face, Belle might as well have caught him with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner.

"No…I do…"

The flicker of doubt dancing in Belle's eyes gave him pause. She knew he was just saying so because he was trying to satisfy her, keep her happy. It was why he'd surprisingly bitten his tongue of any rude comments. Sighing raggedly, he tented his fingers beneath his chin, eyelids fluttering closed while he regained his train of thought. Belle waited patiently until he opened his eyes once more.

"You have to understand. The sole purpose of my existence all these years has been to reunite with…Bae. Not to make friends with these people. Besides, I'm certain that most of them are not too fond of me. For obvious reasons."

Belle's lips puckered into a tense pout. She didn't like where this was heading at all. It was bad enough that he felt the need to impress her the way he was, but now he was insinuating that he was not worthy of mixing with the residents of Storybrooke. It must be why his muscles were much too stiff beneath his suit and his brown eyes kept aiming daggers at anyone he caught staring. She pointed a finger at his chest accusingly.

"Are you self-ridiculing again? Merely a half hour and you're breaking our ultimatum?"

Immediately, he sat upright in frozen fear as he realized how close he must be to breaking his word. She had to admit, the flustered shock on his face was quite unnatural for someone so powerful and controlled…and yet it was a little amusing. Tenderly, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, placing tiny kisses along her knuckles.

"No, of course not." Kiss. "I would never dream of it." Kiss. "I am a man of my word, am I not?" Kiss, kiss, kiss.

While it was a sweet gesture to her to have Rumpelstiltskin expressing his affection, she realized that many of the diner patrons were watching their exchange with widening eyes. Hadn't they ever seen their Mr. Gold fall to pieces on a bad day or shower someone with affection before? Of course not.

He must have sensed the unwanted attention since he abruptly ceased kissing her skin and laid her hand back on the table, almost in the same spot it had been.

"Maybe they're not fond of you because you haven't really given them a reason to be. They don't know you like I do," she said. Rumpelstiltskin's lips lifted only a fraction of an inch. Not a very encouraging gesture.

"I'm afraid the time's past for first impressions."

Belle gazed around the diner warily. It startled her that the only person she knew—apart from Rumpelstiltskin-was Red. Everyone else was a complete stranger with faces that were not the least bit familiar. It only made her feel more isolated from their community. Was this how he felt upon living as Mr. Gold? How many here feared or loathed him?

An idea began to mold itself in her head, one that made her nerves tingle with excitement. She wasn't even sure if Rumpelstiltskin would agree to it, but it was worth a try.

"Let's have a ball," she suggested at the precise moment that Rumpelstiltskin decided to take a sip of his iced tea. Sputtering, he nearly spewed it out. It was a good thing he didn't; otherwise, it would have landed all over the table and her. Frantically, he wiped his chin with a napkin and stared at her as though she'd just announced that she had a third arm under her dress.

"A…what?" Belle shrugged loosely, a soft smile perched on her lips. She was fairly certain Rumpelstiltskin hadn't even hosted balls in their world—she knew he never favored anyone besides customers traipsing into his beloved Dark Castle. Especially because it would mean scuffing up his floors and invading his personal space.

"A ball. It could be…fun. It could give me a chance to meet everyone in town, right? Maybe it will help you, too." Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth, most likely to protest that he didn't need help in any form, but Red darted over with their hamburgers. Judging by the smirk plastered on her face, she had heard.

"Two hamburgers. So…you two are hosting a ball?" Red's head whipped back and forth between them, the strands of her dark hair flying wildly about. The eagerness in her mannerisms was impossible to miss.

"Actually—" Rumpelstiltskin began to decline. Belle swiftly kicked him under the table, causing him to groan out loud. Besides, Red was really focusing on her for the answer.

"Yes, we are. Since I've been locked away for the past 28 years, I figured I should properly introduce myself to everyone. And I'll bet this town could use a little entertainment after being so worked up this past week." Red was already nodding in time to Belle's words while Rumpelstiltskin simply appeared astonished at her lightning-fast decision.

"If you want, I can spread the word around. Oh, and we can even go dress-shopping," Red exclaimed. Apparently, she was well on board with the idea. If Granny hadn't called her back, Belle was sure she would have gotten a full assessment on the type of dress that would be best for her, based on color, size, trim, and length. "When will this ball be?"

Belle glanced curiously over at Rumpelstiltskin, silently asking his permission. He was trying to hide the fact that his leg was throbbing due to some recent occurrence. For a dreadful second, she thought the tightening of his lips meant that he would ultimately discount the ball altogether.

"Tomorrow night," he decided, making Belle's heart race with joy and anticipation. Red made a small reminder on a sheet of the notepad. Perhaps she would make flyers and hang them across town. Or would she mention it when serving customers? _Hello, how may I help you? Here is a list of our specials tonight and oh, by the way, Rumpelstiltskin's hosting a ball! _

"Okay, then. Tomorrow night it is. Enjoy your hamburgers." Red happily trotted off and Belle watched as she avidly leaned close to Granny to whisper something in her ear. It made Granny's eyes widen behind her glasses and Belle could read her lips enough to make out the word _Really? _

Belle could sense Rumpelstiltskin's eyes on her skin, willing her to acknowledge his displeasure. Slowly, she did, turning her head enough to catch his stern eye.

"What? You never let me make these sort of decisions," she outwardly protested before he could even get a chance to launch the first missile. Eyeing his hamburger—obviously checking to see that Red was capable of granting his desire—he frowned.

"With good reason. Everyone in Storybrooke should know about our little ball by, say, midnight." Belle shook her head. Sometimes he could be quite the handful to deal with.

"Yes, but isn't that the point? For me to meet everyone in Storybrooke?" Rumpelstiltskin rolled his brown eyes toward the ceiling. It was as fluid as any other movement his body made. It reminded her of the smooth behavior of the imp she used to know in the Enchanted Forest, the one that oozed power and magic like a second skin.

"Yes, except for the fact that everyone will be in _my_ house, touching _my _belongings, eating _my _food, and sitting on _my_ furniture." Belle tried to stifle the chuckle that rose in her throat in response to his childish complaints. He was like an arrogant child that demanded every toy in the toy box and refused to share.

"I see. Along with self-ridiculing, you're also prone to possessive issues," she diagnosed.

Belle cast off his serious stare and glanced down at her plate. The hamburger was generous in size, taking up nearly the whole plate. There were pickles on the side and a pile of thin golden-brown….things.

"What are these?" She picked one up and twirled it in her fingers.

"Those, my dear, are called French fries. They're rather good, depending on where you eat them," he explained.

Just for demonstration, he picked up a glass bottle of thick red sauce and poured a pile of it on his plate. She watched in fascination as he picked up a fry and dipped it in the red pool before popping it in his mouth. He made a small gesture with his wrist as if to say _'there-you-go.' _

Belle copied his move by picking up one of the fries. Leaning over, she experimentally dipped it into that red stuff and took a small bite of it. Her tongue was suddenly riddled with flavors—it was crispy and salty, but satisfying. She couldn't resist finishing the other half and then another fry after that. Ooh, this world had some delicious food.

"Now how do I eat this?" Belle pointed at the gigantic burger that was wafting steam into the air, begging to be eaten. She would…if she only knew the proper way.

She glanced around the diner, but no one else was eating a hamburger. It frustrated her to no end that she required a lesson on the ways to behave in this world. Everyone else had been exposed to Storybrooke for the last three decades—blending in was second nature to them now. And there were no books that outlined such basic manners.

"It's simple. You just take it into your hands and bite into it," Rumpelstiltskin carefully explained. Belle stared at him in surprise.

"Just…pick it up? With my hands? Isn't that considered rude?" In her castle, Belle had been taught never to act like a peasant and eat with her hands. Always there were utensils and etiquette to be considered. Even during her time at the Dark Castle, their meals had always consisted of royal behavior. Rumpelstiltskin smiled with amusement.

"You'll find that the etiquette in this world varies from ours, my love. Watch me," he instructed. Obediently, she heeded his order as he gently lifted the hamburger into his hands and brought it to his mouth, taking a generous bite out of it. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and gestured to her plate. "Try it."

Experimentally, Belle slid her fingers under the mass of food and guided it into her hands. Raising it, a piece of tomato fell out of it and dropped onto the plate. _Well, here goes nothing,_ she thought as she brought it to her lips and bit down. For a silent moment she chewed the meat and then swallowed it, blinking slowly.

"Well? What did you think?" Rumpelstiltskin inquired when she failed to say something. Belle stared down at the burger and then helped herself to another bite, a much bigger one this time. It felt odd to be shoveling food into her mouth with her bare hands, but this was delicious. He chuckled. "I'll take that as a positive sign."

"You should," she agreed as she laid what was left of her burger down on her plate. She dove for the fries again when she noticed him gazing intently at her face. Or, no, his eyes were trained on something a little bit lower than the upper portion of her features. "What?"

"Belle, you have…" He gestured to his chin with a finger. Her brow furrowed and her hand flew to her chin, though it missed the spot by a few good inches.

It was there, tempting him, clinging to her sweet lips. Glancing around quickly, he made sure no one was truly looking, at least for the moment. Then, pulling Belle across the table to him, he cupped her chin. It was a good thing the spot of ketchup was on her right side instead of her left—otherwise, everyone might have gotten a good view of what he planned to do next.

"What are you—" Belle began to ask, but she earned her answer before she could finish. Nestling his face close to hers, his tongue darted out and traced along her lips, tasting her skin and lapping up that bit of ketchup at the corner. She gasped, but her hand slipped up to his neck to urge him forward.

It was done within a second or two, his tongue where it should be and his body settling back into his side of the table. He licked his lips pleasurably as she watched him with wide eyes.

"Delightful," he murmured, his tongue appearing time and again. She shook her head, but did not seem overly bothered by his sudden intrusion. Her fingers wandered to the spot where his tongue had roved, as if reminiscing about the feel of it on her skin.

"Next time, try giving me a warning first. Also, I think you scared some of the customers," she hinted, noticing the way Granny was blushing profusely. Belle finished every last bit of her burger and reclined in her seat, her belly absolutely full. "Thank you for the dinner date."

As Red swept over to collect their dishes, he grinned over at her suggestively.

"The hamburgers are just the beginning, dearie. Wait until you try your first hot-fudge sundae."

…

_**There you are! Hamburgers, French fries, and sundaes…oh, my! Good news, too: I've already got pretty much the entire next chapter written up! I've been getting a lot of inspiration for Rumbelle lately. **_

_**Of course, I could never do it without you guys! Free sundaes to Bluecanbegreen, Dakota Kent, Romance and Musicals, FortunesFavour, Phantom Penguin, discotimelord (I won't spoil anything—promise!), Immortalis C, DragonRose4, Jenny Islander, Guest, rene10, Anonymous Nerd Girl, peacesista123, and Guest. **_

_**Thank you everyone. I appreciate all your reviews and support. I also hope you all made it through the hurricane okay. My prayers go out to everyone in need. **_


	33. Chapter 33

_**A/N: Here comes another chapter for you. I think it's actually a little longer than the last one—more for my readers to enjoy. Also, I'd like to thank everyone for the awesome reviews. Maybe next time, instead of offering you free sundaes, I'll just offer you a bit of Mr. Gold. (-; **_

_**Chapter Thirty-Three**_

No matter how hard she tried, Belle could not seem to fall asleep.

She wasn't one of those types that tossed and turned relentlessly, flopping like a fish out of water. She would tuck her legs close to her chest, close her eyes, but her mind refused to shut down. It whirred on, haunting her with all her pent-up worries. Every time she opened her eyes, the first thing she'd see was that clock on the bedside table, the black hands inching around.

He was awake, too. She could sense him lying there, lost in thought even though her back was turned to him. Curled around her body, his arm draped across her waist, but she could feel the stiffness as it rested over her hips.

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

Silence came to her from the darkness, but his fingers lightly squeezed her hip to let her know that he was listening, waiting. Burying her face in her pillow, her blue eyes trained on the ticking clock. So monotonous; so smooth in its sole purpose of counting away time. Nothing mattered except the rapid _tick, tick, tick…_

"Do you think…my mother would be disappointed in me?"

A sharp intake of air and then the mattress groaned as he struggled to sit up in bed. The arm caressing her waist flew to her shoulder and gently guided her to roll over and gaze up at him. Lines creased his forehead and eyes, his mouth one straight grim line.

"Is that what's been bothering you? Apart from everything else?"

She tried to form a smile, but it broke; as fragile as thin ice. A silent tear escaped from beneath her eyelids, sliding down her flushed cheek to melt into her hair. Instantly, Rumpelstiltskin's brown eyes softened and his thumb brushed away the wet trail.

"My love, no," he whispered as he pressed a tiny kiss to her cheek. Scrutinizing her, his weary face contorted with gritted teeth and a sneer. "Who told you that?"

Belle could sense the minefield lying in wait for her father, if she offered up his name. Even after verbally hurting her so much, she was willing to protect him. Instinct told her Rumpelstiltskin would eventually piece two and two together, but for now he was asking for an answer directly from her lips. Choking back the lump in her throat, she hesitated.

"Belle, tell me," he pleaded softly, the grimace fading like a mask that had been cascaded away from his face. Slowly, she shook her head. Pulling her closer, he trailed a row of kisses to her ear. "Tell me who hurt you."

An unforgivable cold seeped into her lungs, rendering her breathless. It was true; her father had hurt her much too greatly. In some chamber of her heart, she knew that her father still loved her, but his cruel, stinging words…Belle bit her lip against the ache, but it tumbled forth, anyway.

"My father," she whispered as she wrapped an arm around Rumpelstiltskin's neck to hold him close. Already, she could feel the tremor spiraling through his body, his muscles becoming rigid even underneath the pads of her fingers. Tilting her head back, she gazed into his brown eyes and recognized the distant lack of mercy clouding. Carefully, she drew a trembling hand along his face. "Rumpelstiltskin, _please._ Please, no."

There was that abrupt transformation again. The flash of anger, his lips curling back over his teeth and the immovable determination nearly set in stone. It was not directed at her, but it still sent a shiver along her spine.

"You are his daughter," he hissed, his arms tightening around her like stone walls. "He should respect you and be proud to have your love, not…not treat you—"

"Treat me the way you did when you wielded your magic over me?" It rushed out of her mouth before she could clamp her lips shut. Nothing in the world could influence her to look away—her eyes were glued to his. Realization spread along his face and the fierceness cracked. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I—"

"No," he abruptly overrode her apology. Regret illuminated those dark depths in the shy light of the moon flowing through the window. He leaned his head down to kiss away her furrowed brow. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm no better than your father. I…I promised I would never let anything happen to you again. Instead, I became your oppressor."

Belle winced, hating the torment that struck his face again and again. Huddling closer to the warmth of his body, she nestled her lips into his neck.

"I forgive you," she whispered. This time, she meant it. All this hurt and sorrow between them; she only wished to cast it aside. Start over fresh in the morning and perhaps find that happy place again, filled with roses, waterfalls, and night s by the fireplace.

"I never truly answered your question," he mused, cradling her against his chest. She glanced upward at him with a thin ray of hope. He breathed softly for a minute, choosing his words carefully. "This may sound strange to you, dearest, but there was a time in our land where I crossed paths with your mother. Oh, yes. Only once, while she was carrying you. I was traveling through the kingdom when I saw her in a garden, tending to roses. It was the same fascinated expression you wear every time your nose is in a book."

Belle could not help but to giggle at that, the knowledge that she was somehow similar to her mother remedying her pain. A genuine smile radiated from her lips, brightening her entire face. He swept some of the hair from her jaw before continuing. She was already lost in a trance, patiently listening.

"Your mother…she was a beautiful woman, but frail. Brave, yes. I could sense the strength in her even then, not unlike our fair Snow White, but her body…" He stopped, wondering how much to divulge to Belle without hurting her. Understanding transpired over her and she nodded.

"My mother became ill before she gave birth to me. She died shortly after. I never really knew her at all, but my father always told me that rose garden meant a great deal to her," she explained, brushing the water from her cheeks.

"Indeed, it must have been. Her will was strong if she could withstand the throes of her illness to tend to a bunch of flowers." Belle offered him a stern look, but the smile tugging at her lips contradicted it. "I offered my services to cure it. But she didn't want it."

Belle inclined her head thoughtfully, the sadness emanating in waves.

"Why not? You could have saved her…right?" Rumpelstiltskin dipped his head once, his hair falling across half his face.

"I could have. It was a simple bout of pneumonia that took a turn for the worse. The birthing was too much for her to bear. When I offered her the deal, she told me she had a dream the previous night. A dream of her daughter." Belle breathed in deeply, a short gasp. "She said she had no wish to live beyond natural means. The only thing she wanted was to be able to birth her daughter and trust that she would find happiness one day. Having you would mean a remaining piece of her would keep your father well. Besides, she'd heard of my reputation and knew my price already."

"Me," Belle sighed. He dipped his head again, this time in shame.

Of course, he would never have known that this particular child would inevitably grow to become his true love. Had he taken her, traded her away, who was to say she wouldn't marry another and never be his? She certainly would never have called for him that fateful night and gone with him to his castle.

"I believe she was the first to reject a deal with me. She was quite selfless as you," he said, playing with a strand of her hair. "The way your mother tended so lovingly to those roses, Belle, I have no doubt she'd love you just the same. You are beautiful, strong, brilliant, capable of loving anything that requires it. Suffice to say…your mother would have good reason to be proud."

The smile on Belle's lips stretched until she could hardly contain the love that she felt swelling her heart. Happily, she wrapped her arms around Rumpelstiltskin and whispered thanks for his gentle words.

"You said she had a dream of her daughter, of me. Do you think she knew….about you?" He knew what she was referring to as she gazed so intently at him from under her eyelashes.

Letting his head fall back onto the pillow, he closed his eyes and dragged up the memory from the ancient corners of his mind. The blinding sun shining behind the gray clouds, the delicate frost that still lingered on the petals of the roses after a particularly dreadful storm, the dark-haired woman whose form was exhausted and frail, eyes sore and bloodshot, with her belly protruding before her round as a watermelon. The way she easily declined his deal in favor of her child; the way she snuck one last secretive smirk before heading back up the path to the castle, basket of roses swinging in hand, where she would give birth and pass in her bed that very night.

"Yes," he finally murmured as he leaned over to kiss the crown of Belle's head. "Some mothers are intuitive about those matters. But your mother knew. Before she left my presence, she said 'Not time yet.' Back then, I assumed she meant her child's birth…but now I believe I know what she meant."

Belle yawned and laid her head against his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. Softly, he threaded his fingers through the strands of her hair, savoring the sensation of their silky texture over his skin.

"I love you," he whispered. He wasn't sure whether she heard it until the corners of her lips lifted peacefully.

"I love you, too," she answered back without a mere second of uncertainty. She was rocking on the fringes of sleep. "Goodnight…Rumpelstiltskin."

He paused in stroking her hair and gently adjusted on the bed so that he was comfortably resting with Belle cuddling over him. His hand drifted down to the small of her back and he rubbed it until her breathing deepened.

"Goodnight, my Belle."

…..

It was a miracle the rose gardens survived the cold draft that unexpectedly passed through the kingdom. A thin layer of frost iced the petals, nearly killing them. Only a few managed not to droop on their stems. The earth was frozen, crunching under his boots as he traversed.

Only a few times did he deal in this kingdom. He never had need to cross this land and so found himself strolling by foot rather than magically transport. It reminded him of King George's scenic kingdom, with a magnificent castle structured by the water. It was one of those times he wasn't in much of a hurry. Word had it that a few women in this part were ready to bear children. All he required was one.

Coming along the path, the towers of the castle rising at the height of it, the sight of a young woman stopped him short. Hunched over a rosebush, one of many that surrounded the path, she did not notice him. But he noticed everything.

He had to admit, she was far prettier than half the common women that he came across. She wore an elegant golden cloak that hung loosely on her frame, but it was one that hardly belonged to a commoner. This one was a royal. Though, he had to say she wasn't looking too prosperous.

Sore bags crowded the tender area under her eyelids. Pasty, pale skin thirsted for the sun when there should have been a healthy glow of one who has never known struggle. A fierce, hacking cough consumed her, rendering her breathless.

Ill, was she? And…_oh,_ he perked up considerably the moment she shifted enough to reveal her swelling belly, round and full. Oh, how could he be expected to resist this one when fate practically served it to him on a platter?

_Tsk, tsk, tsk. _"No offense, dearie, but I've seen road-kill livelier than you."

She jumped up from the bush, startled, only to glance over at him with intense curiosity as he perched on a boulder nearby. Casually, he crossed one leg over the other and examined his gritty nails.

"Pity. I suppose I _could_ do something about that…for a price."

"No, thank you," she sternly declined. His head shot up, his lanky hair cascading across his jaw and thankfully shielding his confusion. He stuck a finger in his ear just to be sure his hearing wasn't off. Did she just say…_no?_

She turned her back on him in order to continue tending to the fragile roses, brow knitted in concentration, but he was already there, looming over her like a serpent. It was a wonder what magic could do.

"Perhaps you heard me wrong. Normally I hate to repeat myself, but for you….I'll make an exception. You see, with just a little…_magic_—" With a flourish of his golden-toned wrist, he made the air shimmer. "—I can cure that illness of yours in a pinch. Good as new, eh?"

He giggled, a shrill note that often sent chills along the spines of his customers. He liked to keep them unnerved—it reminded them who they were dealing with. But this odd woman inclined her pretty little head and met his golden orbs without fear.

"Oh, I heard you the first time. And you'll find my answer remains the same. I do not have any wish to live beyond natural means, especially not by magic. What will be, will be. So, _no,_ thank you."

As she plucked a small rose from the bush and smoothed away the frost, he was stunned and at a loss for words. Not many people achieved that with him. Then his composure returned tenfold, his lips curled and his expression darkened with a stubborn impatience.

What in gods was wrong with this woman? She was ill, hanging on by days if he had to estimate, and she was refusing a chance of survival? What more could she ask for?

"Magic is not so perverse, dearie. It's just a bunch of hocus pocus," he assured her silkily, waving his hand to conjure a blood crimson rose, stronger than the ones growing—or rather, dying—on that bush. Uncertainly, she took it and inhaled its velvet aroma. So, she liked roses. "There's more where that came from. Imagine—I could save your life. Right here, right _now._ You could skip off to your little castle, birth your babe. Everyone will be happy."

Deliciously he painted the fantasy for her, tempting her with all that was available to her with one little word. Slowly, he stalked around her, his nails brushing her cloaked shoulder. His golden eyes dropped to admire her extensive belly. Any day now. He wiggled his fingers in anticipation. _Say yes, woman, say yes. _

"Sorry, no," she firmly rejected his offer thrice in a row. It royally angered him to the point where he gritted his teeth. Most fools could be reeled in upon the first offering. Just for that, the enchanted rose in her grasp withered and blackened until it crumbled.

Planting himself directly in front of her, he pointed a finger at her face.

"No one rejects a deal with me," he hissed. Raising her chin defiantly, she glared at his finger and then gazed into his eyes, unperturbed.

"I believe I just did…Rumpelstiltskin." This time he could not hide his astonishment. She misinterpreted it to be surprise at her recognition. "Oh, yes. I know who you are. You make deals for the most unholy of requests. Though, I've never seen you in this part. I've only heard whispers. I suppose it would be rude not to offer my name. I am Virginia." She extended her hand, but he ignored it. Disappointed, she let it fall to her side. "If the rumors are true, I already know your price." Her shaky hand fell to her belly. This was a clever one. "You want my child, but I'm afraid I cannot promise you such a precious thing now."

"Now?" He cocked his head as he mulled over her choice of words. Her lips dipped into a frown and the weariness made her illness that much more apparent. Distantly, she watched the horizon, the only sound her ragged breathing. Time was ticking away and now he was becoming unruly.

"Last night, I had a dream. A dream of my daughter. She seemed happy…" A fond smile lifted over her face as her hand pressed against her belly. Shaking her head, she broke free of her trance. "That is all I want. To bring my daughter into this world. At least when my time comes, she will be a piece of me to keep her father stable."

How touching. It didn't make his job any easier. He needed a child, damn it. That one was about to pop.

Suddenly, Virginia clenched her eyes shut and moaned. Oh, yes, that little bundle of joy was certainly demanding out. Slipping through his fingers. The tremor must have passed, for the tension left her face. A bright gleam danced in her eyes and a knowing smile was offered to him.

"It's not time yet."

His brow creased with question as she took her basket of roses and started up the pathway to the castle. No one had ever left his presence before—usually he was the one to decide when a meeting ended. And what did she mean, it wasn't time yet? The birth of her baby? Was she delusional?

_Never mind it. _Virginia left him with a scowl on his face. Not only was he going to have to start over his search of an expectant mother-to-be, but his mood had terribly soured. _This is what I get for choosing to walk instead of teleporting. _

…..

Rumpelstiltskin awoke from the surreal dream. It had been a dream of his one-time encounter with Virginia, Belle's mother. Telling Belle the story must have encouraged the memory to clamp down on his subconscious.

Stretching his arms above his head, the drowsiness of the dream ebbed away. He reached out for Belle, but instead of a warm body, his palm fell flat against the cool sheets of the mattress. His eyes shot wide open and he jerked up in bed. Sunlight flowed through the window, blinding him for a brief second.

It was morning already? It felt like he'd only slept for an hour at most.

Hurrying out of bed, he dressed and grabbed his cane, already deciding to search for her. She couldn't be too far, unless she went into town. But then Belle would leave a note, wouldn't she? She of all people knew how much he worried for her well-being in this world.

As he descended the stairs, rather quickly for a man with a bad leg, the sound of soft humming reached his ears. She was in the living room. The silvery notes drew him forward, hypnotizing him. Turning the corner, he stopped as he caught sight of her.

Feather duster in one hand, book in the other, she flounced around the room dusting. Clad in a knee-length snowy white dress, she was considerably the most pleasurable sight he'd had the fortune to lay eyes on this morning. Spinning, she gave a small gasp as she noticed him leaning against the doorframe. Her temporary vulnerability raked a dark nail across his back, that dreadful curse poisoning his mind. Such a delectable mouse.

"Morning, Rumpelstiltskin," she regained her composure and brightly greeted him. "I was just—" She motioned with the duster, a pink blush warming her cheeks. Quietly, he swooped forward and took the duster from her hand, discarding it on a table.

"I told you, Belle. You're not my caretaker, anymore. You don't need to do my bidding to please me." Gently, he took her into his arms and she did not resist, though she did shield her smile behind her book. Impatiently, he snatched it up and laid it alongside the duster.

"I was reading that," she lightly protested. He silenced her with a demanding kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist. Instantly, she returned the kiss, entwining her arms around his neck to pull him down to her. When she came up for air, her blue eyes were sparkling with desire. "I'll take that as a _good morning. _Oh, what do you think of my dress?"

Inching back enough to offer her a serious once-over, he whistled lowly.

"My, you are a sight for sore eyes, love. And before I've even had my coffee," he teased. She smiled happily and clung tightly to him, her head fitting perfectly on his shoulder. His lips buried into her hair. "I do not deserve you," he whispered. Swift as lightning, she touched a finger to his lips.

"Remember our deal," she warned. Catching her wrist, he pressed a small kiss to the tip of her finger and then the underside of her wrist, where her pulse fluttered like the wings of a butterfly.

"I never break my word, Belle. I promise you that," he replied, urging her close once more. It felt so good to absorb her warmth and caress a hand across her smooth skin. Golden streams of sunlight cascaded through the window, the birds chirped beyond the window, the scent of her strawberry shampoo wafted toward his nose. Nothing else mattered…

Something was shining there on the table. It distracted him, glinting obnoxiously in the beams of sunlight. Gazing over Belle's shoulder, he caught sight of the object on the table. When he recognized what it was, his insides festered and his heart convulsed painfully in his chest.

It was the dagger.

Without untangling from Belle, he extended a hand and hesitantly picked it up. It seemed to shimmer as he raised it up, his name carved there ominously. What was it doing here? It was supposed to be hidden away upstairs. He was faintly aware of Belle's body shifting beneath his touch.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I found that in the bedroom this morning. I hope you don't mind. I was only curious," Belle explained, tilting her head to observe the crude dagger. Dismissing it, she returned her head to his shoulder, savoring his comfort. He never answered her, only numbly stared at the formidable dagger.

_Curiosity killed the cat, _he thought without so much as a stroke of amusement. It was too quiet now—he realized the birds stopped singing outside. The sunlight appeared to dim, perhaps hidden by a cloud. Dust particles danced through the air, clogging the living room and settling on every object in sight.

For some reason—perhaps it was instinct—his gaze traveled to the ancient mirror that hung on the wall to his left. Their reflections occupied the glass, with Belle resting comfortably in his embrace. The only difference was him—instead of the small-town pawnbroker Mr. Gold, his reflection was that of his true form. The crocodile-skin attire, the golden-gray skin, the black nails stroking Belle's bared back.

Barely breathing, eyes glued to the golden orbs in the mirror, the Dark One's slithery voice whispered around his mind. _Curiosity killed the cat…You don't deserve her…You became her oppressor…_

His reflection sneered viciously as the unwavering fist curled around the handle of the dagger, raising it above his head and posing the unmistakable threat. The name mocked him, seeming to pulse along the silver blade. Veins burning, he found himself copying his reflection, the blade poised. Belle never noticed.

The lanky-haired head of the beast dipped ever so slightly, offering permission to carry out the necessary deed. _It is time. _Licking his lips anxiously, he clenched his eyes shut, begging for the will to set the dagger down, away from his love's body.

Rumpelstiltskin stroked the strands of Belle's hair with his free hand; his lips kissed the crown of her head. _I love you, Belle. _And then the dagger plunged down, piercing her heart.

…

_**Dun, dun, dun! Cruel, nasty cliffhanger. I know. Please don't maul me with Gold's cane. **_

_**As I said, I have many reviewers to thank for their lovely reviews! Here's to Romance and Musicals, LionshadeSC, thedoctorsgirl42, Gracounette, DragonRose4, discotimelord, megumisakura, peacesista123, Jennifer, Vacumatic, Bluecanbegreen, PhantomPenguin, Heart Of Diamond, KrysOfSorrow, Anonymous Nerd Girl, Grace5231973, and rene10. **_

_**Wow, thank you all for such great support and love! Hmm…Mr. Gold's cane, anyone? Think of it as the cherry on top. (-; Until next time!**_


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Wow, I guess I really shook you guys up with that awful cliffhanger, hmm? Fear not, for here is another chapter for you. And I promise it does not contain a horrible cliffhanger. If it somehow does, feel free to bring out the pitchforks. **_

Belle jolted awake with beads of sweat clustering her brow. Oh, the nightmares she endured due to Regina's wrath—she had once again relived that mind-numbing torture of the burning. Perhaps it came from not knowing how well the Queen would take the news of their little ball. Heart drumming in the hollow of her throat, she arched her head back into the pillow and took slow breaths.

It was only a dream.

It had felt so real—as if she had been magically transported back to that horrible time. The wicked peals of the Queen's laughter, the click-clack of her sharp heels against stone, the stench of her burning flesh as the red-hot iron made contact with her white, soft skin…

She had hoped Rumpelstiltskin's arms around her would drive away the dreams. Blindly, she spread her hand out for him, but he wasn't there beside her. The clock read that it was a little past midnight. Where was he? Did he wake up as she did? Perhaps wander to the kitchen for a drink?

Clinging to the fragments of the dream, Belle tossed back the sheets and slid from the warmth of the bed. The floorboards sent chills spiraling up her ankles as she crossed to the bedroom door and peered into the hallway. Slowly, she edged into the shadowy hall, the floorboards groaning with every footfall.

Drifting to the staircase, she leaned over the railing to catch a glimpse of the floor below. There wasn't a single light on downstairs, nor a sound to be heard. Not even a breath.

Turning in the direction of the bathroom, Belle became rooted in place. A soft golden glow seeped from underneath the library's door. Why would Rumpelstiltskin feel the need to go to the library in the middle of the night? It had always been her place of solace, but she could never recall him saying the same. Had he finally taken her seriously about her reading recommendations?

Making her way to the door, she gently turned the handle and stepped inside. It was toasty due to the raging fire crackling in the fireplace. The bright flames caused the bleak shadows to slither along the walls and shelves, making the library seem much larger than it really was.

He stood near the fireplace, gazing emptily into the flames. The light nearly made his skin look as golden as it had been in their world. If he noticed her presence, he did not give any sign of acknowledging it.

"Rumpel…?" Belle murmured uncertainly, taking a few steps forward. Blinking—as if coming out of a trance—his earthy brown eyes swept to her. For a minute, it seemed he did not recognize her as she stood before him, concerned for his well-being. Did he have an unsettling dream as well?

"Belle," he whispered dreamily. "You're awake."

Smiling softly for his benefit, she started to draw close to him, intending to offer him the comfort she sensed he deeply needed. As his body shifted in her direction, she noticed the dagger clutched tightly in his left hand. It sent a shiver along her back, especially with the way the glow of the fire illuminated his true name on the blade.

"What are you doing with that?" He followed her gaze to the dagger in his fist, now trembling in his grasp. She took advantage of his distracted focus to close the distance between them. The heat seared her legs, but she had no mind to notice. Cautiously, she extended a hand to trace his face.

"Really, Belle, it's—" _Nothing, _she knew he had been about to say. It would have been a dreadful lie. The pleading in her eyes must have broken through to him. Anguish contorted his features and he gave a ragged, defeated sigh. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

Belle's fingertips caressed his jaw and he lifted a hand to trap it there, as if he were afraid she would recoil. She shook her head solemnly.

"I told you not to let magic go to your head," she scolded. This was the cause of his anxiety—magic. No matter what he believed under its seductive pull, magic always did more harm than good. It was unpredictable in this world, as Rumpelstiltskin had once explained.

"It's easier said than done. The Dark One does not mix well in a world not meant for magic. It's consuming me more every passing day," he said with the slightest tremor of fear. Suddenly, he thrust the dagger toward her and she backed away. His eyes flashed with hurt. "No, dearest...You have to take it."

Belle glanced down at the dagger, unable to comprehend his wish. Only once had she ever witnessed the blade and that was when he had been cradling it in this world. Only once had he revealed its significance, how it was the key to his power. Did Rumpelstiltskin even realize the feat he was placing in her hands?

"I can't take it," she whispered, curling her body away from it. The power emanating from it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Never in any of her days had she wanted to possess such power. Still, his eyes begged her.

"Please, Belle. It will…allow you to control my power," he reminded her. That only troubled her even more. It shocked her that he would so willingly place control into someone else's hands, especially considering he had been such a free-roaming being in the Enchanted Forest.

Perhaps he finally understood how dangerous the Dark One could be. Perhaps his fear of losing her trumped his freedom of magic.

"I don't want to control you, Rumpelstiltskin," she insisted, gazing boldly into his eyes. What kind of love could they share if he only lived to obey her command? The weight of its meaning overwhelmed her to no end. "How are you so sure I can handle that responsibility?"

A sincere smile seemed to tease the corners of his lips. Gently, his hand cupped her chin.

"My Belle, you are the purest woman I have ever had the fortune to meet. If you can't figure out how to accept such a responsibility, then no one can," he assured her. She remembered the words he'd whispered into her ear before she succumbed to sleep—how she was strong and brave and that her mother would have been proud. The hand not holding the dagger began to fervently stroke her hair and his head bent towards hers, his lips brushing her forehead. "I trust you."

Reaching a hand out, Belle grasped the handle of the dagger and took it from him. His face became more resigned, his eyes almost expectant for her command. Instead, she allowed his hand to freely caress her cheek.

"Protect it. It's the solution, don't you see? This way, you and I can be together…without magic." Belle delved into his arms and softly kissed his lips. It was a chaste kiss, just enough to get the message across. Wrapping her arms around his body, she settled into him and smiled when he returned the gesture.

"I love you," she whispered into his neck. His lips buried into her silky hair, his breath tickling the skin above her ear. His hand rose to rub the small of her back, holding her infinitely close.

"I love you, too," he answered back. Belle tried to take comfort in his arms, but all she could do was stare over his shoulder at the dagger caught in her hand. This way, he could stop using magic, unless she allowed it. This way, magic could not drive a wedge between their love.

Neither of them voiced it, but this changed everything.

…..

For the first time in a long time—perhaps since the morning after Rumpelstiltskin made love to her in the cabin—Belle awoke with a smile. It rivaled the sunlight shining through the window, spreading until her lips could hardly contain it. Considering the anxiety of last night, she was surprised to find she slept well. Shifting her head on her pillow, she parted her lips to tell him so, except he wasn't there.

Startled, Belle sat upright in bed. He did come back to bed last night, she made sure of it. Whether he fell asleep after her eyes closed was another matter entirely.

Mind racing, her fingers slipped under her pillow and she sighed with relief as her fingertips grazed the cool, sharp edge of the dagger. According to him, he was powerless to take it from her—only she could give it now—but she had to make sure.

But then…where was he?

"No need to panic, dearie. I'm right here," his rich voice made her head spin in the direction of the bedroom door. Swiftly he glided in, already dressed impeccably in his suit and balancing a tray across his free arm. It was trapped against his chest to keep the items from falling. "I brought you breakfast."

"And where am I supposed to eat it? In bed?" Belle giggled at the ridiculous thought. Why, beds were for sleeping and…other activities…not_ eating_. Was this another odd form of etiquette in this world?

Rumpelstiltskin bent forward to set the tray on her lap, the glass of juice nearly spilling over onto the sheets.

"Something else you'll have to get used to, I'm afraid. In this world, a man serving his wife breakfast in bed is a sign of deep affection. And occasionally an act of kissing-up if he's aware he did wrong in her eyes," he explained, straightening up to full height. Judging by the way he winced, that effort of bending was not healthy for his leg.

Belle admired the tray of assorted foods and her stomach grumbled, demanding for her to stop staring and start eating. She took a sip of juice and then nearly choked on it as his words echoed in her mind. Was her hearing off today? Or had he just said…?

"Wife?"

Rumpelstiltskin froze as if he realized he'd made a critical error. Muscles tightening, skin paling by a few degrees, fingers clenching his cane; he looked oddly like a statue. His hand flew to his forehead, lines of worry etched across his skin. Was he getting a headache? Ill?

"Excuse me?" Belle frowned in puzzlement. Being the Dark One, Belle had never known Rumpelstiltskin to be forgetful or flustered, unless it concerned something he was struggling to wrap his mind around. She wanted to rise for him, but she was afraid of ruining the bed and breakfast scenario.

"A moment ago. You just referred to me as your wife," she pointed out. This only seemed to make him stall more. Avoiding her gaze, his free hand busied itself with fixing his tie, even though it was perfectly in place. Or perhaps he was loosening it so he could rightly breathe through the heat that crawled along his neck.

"Did I? I meant…" Girlfriend? Sweetheart? Betrothed? "...darling," he corrected, quite unconvincingly. Belle took another sip of juice, this time slowly so as not to choke if he made any other slips of the tongue.

"You don't sound so sure," she teased lightly. His lips flattened into a thin line and he appeared unable to draw in a breath. She covered her mouth to hide the gale of laughter rising in her throat. She could tell he was unnerved and bothered. That was the same dazed expression he wore after catching her in his arms in the castle.

"Your breakfast is cooling, dearie. Pancakes aren't quite as appetizing when they're cold," he advised. Changing the subject, was he? Taking the hint, Belle lifted her fork and poked it into the first pancake on the plate. The minute a piece of it was in her mouth—buttery and fluffy—she moaned with bliss. "I'll take that as an accommodation for a job well done."

Just for added emphasis on his part, Belle quickly cut up another piece of pancake and guided it into her mouth. Sinking back onto her pillow, she gazed up at him with nothing short of gratitude.

"I don't remember asking you to make me breakfast in bed. I'm not exactly a queen," she taunted. Reaching out, his hand brushed along her hair.

"You're more valuable than any queen, Belle. Besides, this was strictly something I wanted to do. Along with this." Leaning his cane against the bedside table, he lowered himself on one knee. Her eyes widened as his hand continued stroking her head and he bent over her to place a kiss on her lips. "Best eat quick, my love. There's much to do to prepare for our little ball."

Just like that, he got to his feet, retrieved his cane, and started for the door. All that was left was to enjoy this breakfast and run around party-planning. Surprisingly, it left a gloomy streak of disappointment burning through her veins as she tried to comprehend what just happened. After that slip of the tongue 'wife' comment, she admittedly hoped…

No. It was silly. Clearly, that kind of commitment was not meant to happen yet. That was all.

"Thank you," she whispered to his retreating back before he could vanish through the door. She knew he heard her, for he paused on the threshold. Turning, he made a small flourished bow.

"Your wish is my command, Belle." Of course, that was another concept she'd have to get used to—power.

….

Belle never fully appreciated how much preparation went into a ball until she was the sole person forced to dash around in hopes of getting it all done by the evening. The one time she made the remark to Rumpelstiltskin, he had smirked and reminded her that "this ball was her idea, not his." In which case, she'd swatted him with a napkin. It didn't help that he wasn't trying too hard, either.

The house needed to be swept, dusted, cleaned. The windows were in desperate need of a good washing. The clutter in the living room simply had to go. Or at least it would have if Rumpelstiltskin hadn't protested by creating a wall with his arms to block her. There were products to be bought—food, plates, napkins, drinks, and perhaps a decoration or two. Belle had even taken to washing the floor with a mop, only to resort to scrubbing on her hands and knees.

"My, I do believe I've never seen you work so diligently. Not even in my castle."

Belle stopped scrubbing long enough to glance over her shoulder at Rumpelstiltskin, who was leaning casually against the doorframe and peering down on her with mild amusement. His brown eyes glistened in the slanting sunlight, appearing almost golden. A trickle of sweat beaded her brow, but she refused to give in. So she scrubbed.

"This might be ten times faster if you let me do things my way," he hinted, making no other move to assist her. Not that he would be able to stand working on his knees for any amount of time.

Belle rolled her eyes at his suggestion. His way. She blew a strand of hair out of her face and threw the sponge down in frustration. She sat back on her knees, gazing up at him warily. His way was too risky, as it always came with a price.

"You mean magic," she accused. He didn't deny it or approve it; the sudden stoniness of his expression confirmed it. She released a dry laugh. Incredible. "One day. No, _hours,_ and you're already asking to use magic again."

Pushing off the doorframe, he restlessly began to pace. It was only then she noticed how worked up he truly seemed. The way his eyes darted wildly around the room, his strides becoming longer with each turn-around, his breathing quickening…He resembled a caged animal begging for release.

"You don't understand. I've been using magic for the last three hundred years or so. The only reason I've managed it here was the curse—as Gold, I was nearly human again. I could sustain it. Now that the curse has been broken…it's harder to ignore. Quitting is a demanding feat, Belle. I'm as strong-willed as a sobering alcoholic with ten glasses of alcohol on the bar, waiting to be drunk. Magic is easier to start than to stop."

Belle was speechless after his little rant. Rising to her feet, she approached him and smoothed her hand along his arm. Immediately, he stopped pacing, as if her touch was the cure he'd been thirsting for.

"You need to be strong," she told him, gazing straight into his clouded brown eyes. There was a doubtful gleam there; he did not believe it. He still branded himself a coward, unable to gather such strength. "I believe in you, Rumpelstiltskin." She smiled reassuringly before unclasping her hand from his elbow.

"At least let me use it to fix this room up," he pleaded, sneering at the clutter that essentially was the living room. Belle sighed—that little layer of inspiration had gone right over his head, hadn't it? "It will take us hours to move it by hand," he reasoned.

Looking around at the mess, she realized he had a point. These items had been collected and stored for years. It would not be easily discarded in a matter of minutes. She wasn't even sure there was any room in the house to fit the countless antiquities, except for the guest room and basement, both requiring stairs.

She found herself bending unexpectedly to his logic.

"I need to head into town to pick up a few items for the ball. While I'm gone…" She drew close to him and dipped her head once. Hopefully, she would not regret this choice. "I give you permission to use magic for the living room. Only the living room," she said, earning a smile from him over her specific wording. She knew him all too well.

"Learning the tricks of the trade, I see," he remarked rather proudly. Belle shrugged as she dusted herself off and retrieved her jacket from the hook in the hall.

"What can I say? I learned from the best," she replied. Striding over, she placed a chaste kiss on his lips and embraced him. As expected, he returned it eagerly. She felt his hand dip into her coat pocket and she glanced up at him in question.

"You won't get far without money, love," he said. Studying the living room, Belle could hear the grinding of the wheels in his head. Were they ever stopped? "Trust me, Belle—you won't even recognize it." That was what she was afraid of.

…..

Belle only needed to stop at the general store for a few items. As she wandered the aisles, she found herself wondering what Rumpelstiltskin had planned for the living room. It was much too difficult to predict his surprises.

A loaf of bread, a box of candles, a set of napkins, a bottle of air freshener, and a package of invitations later, she was standing in line to check out. Business was slow for the only general store in Storybrooke. Perhaps everyone was still spending time with loved ones. She could not blame them; families and lovers had been apart for twenty-eight years.

Finally, it was Belle's turn and she stepped forward to lay her items on the counter. The man behind the register began ringing them up one by one, though he kept sneaking small glances at her as she scrambled for the paper money Rumpelstiltskin had supplied. She studied the numbers in the corners, trying to figure out which one to use.

At one point, he stopped his work altogether.

"I'm sorry. You look familiar. Have we met?" Belle glanced up at the humble man that was studying her so intently. He had a nasally voice, short black hair, an aged face, and wore a white coat that proclaimed him as the manager of the store. His nose was horribly red and raw, as if he'd been rubbing it.

Belle searched her mind, but couldn't seem to place him despite the nagging déjà vu.

"Not that I can recall. I'm Belle," she warmly introduced, extending her hand out. The manager dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"Mr. Clark—uh, Sneezy. I wouldn't shake hands with me if I were you," he advised. Belle slowly lowered her hand. Something—some small clarifying piece of information—bubbled to the surface. In her mind, she pictured a particular book in her lap: the Grimm fairy tales. The story of Snow White flitted past.

"Sneezy?" Then, it hit her. She made a small 'O' with her lips in realization. "Oh, you must be one of Dreamy's friends! One of the dwarfs?" Instantly, Sneezy's eyes flew open wide with recognition. He began pointing a finger at her emphatically.

"_That's _how I recognize you! You're the girl in the tavern. The one that offered Dreamy advice about true love. To tell you the truth, his name is Grumpy now," Sneezy said, digging out a wad of tissues from his pocket. A sneeze must be coming on.

"Grumpy?" Belle furrowed her brow in thought. How could someone simply change their name? Rumpelstiltskin always spouted that names were sacred and not to be shed lightly. Sneezy nodded while finishing the task of ringing up her items.

"Yeah, it didn't work out so well between him and Nova. The fairy he loved. He was heartbroken, so he became Grumpy. It changed him." Belle pressed a hand to her heart. Oh, that was much too unfortunate to hear. She could remember how in love Dreamy seemed; it had given her hope that someone else could find love even if she was devastated by it at the time.

Sneezy must have sensed her sympathy, for he grew frantic.

"But I think the two of them started connecting again," he assured her. She sighed with relief. Love was a fragile thing and much too beautiful to lose. Even in times of despair, such as with this dismal curse, it seemed love knew no boundaries.

Sneezy announced her total and Belle counted out the exact change. Right before he accepted the money, he tossed his head back and his body gave one tremendous jerk.

"Ah…_Atchoo!" _Sneezy miserably dabbed at his nose with the tissue and Belle couldn't help but feel sorry for him. In a world of such oddities, she figured there might be something to cure his condition.

"Bless you," she patiently and politely responded. Sneezy's eyes brightened considerably.

"Thank you," he sincerely replied, depositing her money in the register and printing out the receipt. "No one ever bothers to say that to me, anymore." Belle slung the plastic bag of items over the crook of her elbow. She frowned. Were manners a nonexistent concept in this world, too? Everyone around her seemed nice, for the most part.

"Why not?" He opened his mouth to respond, only to violently sneeze once more. Belle figured she had her answer.

"I sneeze too much," he said, breaking out the tissues again. She accepted the receipt and stuffed it into the plastic bag with the items. Now it was time to head back to Rumpelstiltskin and discover what he had done to the living room. She only hoped it was still standing.

"Well, well," a condescending voice emerged from directly behind her.

It would be impossible to mistake the owner. Determined not to show weakness, Belle held her chin high as she turned to face the Queen. It was a wonder how she was still able to walk freely around town without a mob chasing her, but then there was the extent of her power to consider.

"Hosting a little celebration, are we?" Crimson-painted lips pulled into a smug grin, Belle knew the Queen was mocking her.

Small shivers of apprehension raced along her skin, though she forced herself to stare into the Queen's endless irises. Snaking a hand into her pocket, she rifled for the small communicative device Rumpelstiltskin had insisted she carry in case they were apart. She understood he had meant it for this exact sort of situation. All she had to do was flip it open, press that little button under the screen, and "speed dial" him…

"Oh, don't worry. I promise I'm not here to drag you off into a dungeon and give Rumpelstiltskin any more gray hairs than he already has," Regina spouted, seeing right through Belle.

"Your word has no value to me," she retorted boldly. The nerve pulsing in Regina's forehead insisted she was not pleased with the rejection. Belle peered around the Queen's shoulder, searching for an escape route. Would she be able to slip past or would the Queen block her?

"Regina, if you're going to cause trouble, I suggest you—" Sneezy began to rise to Belle's defense, though the tremor revealed his fear. The poor man was practically shaking in his boots, especially when Regina's dark eyes swiveled in his direction, burning with the intensity of two coals.

"I suggest you keep quiet, you lousy dwarf, or I will give you something to really sneeze about," she bitterly threatened. "Have you ever considered renovating this useless store into a greenhouse?" That silenced Sneezy immediately, the idea of blooming flowers and plants a burden on his mind. "Still wearing those scars, I see."

Regina pointedly stared at Belle's wrists, the tips of her scars poking out from beneath her sleeves. Self-consciously, Belle tugged the sleeves down to cover the marks. It irked her to have Regina admiring her tragedy. The act of shielding them, however, only served to make the Queen happier in her torment.

"Tell me, what does your imp think about those hideous scars when he's holding you in his arms? Does it unsettle him to know I disfigured his precious beauty?" There was a silky pleasure ridden in the Queen's tone; it twisted Belle's stomach. What kind of person could find pleasure from such pain?

"The only reason you're doing this is because you're hurt," Belle intercepted. Stunned, the Queen actually retreated into uncomfortable silence. "The curse is broken, which means Emma claimed her son, didn't she? You're angry. You're choosing to attack me because you believe it will make you feel better, but it will fail. Believe it or not, Your Majesty, I am happy. If anything, I feel sorry for you."

The weight of Belle's words sunk onto Regina's shoulders until they sagged inward with despair. The victorious visage crumbled, try as she might to maintain her black composure. Licking her lips, Regina attempted to bury the abrupt pain in her expression, but Belle had already caught a glimpse of it. It was probably the most human any person had known her to be.

"You feel _sorry _for me?" Regina's upper lip curled with disgust. "And why is that?"

Belle took a single step forward and her courage increased as Regina took the tiniest step back. Just enough to reveal her distrust. Did Regina trust anyone in this world or the last? Or was she forever alone?

"I feel sorry for you because you will never have anyone, Regina. Happiness born of suffering can never last. If you need to cause the endless suffering and heartache of others in order to be happy, then I'm afraid you may never truly know happiness."

Defiantly, Belle strode past her to the door, leaving a speechless Regina in her wake.

…..

It was while she was walking up the path to the house, plastic bag swinging on her arm, that she first noticed the difference. It was akin to the sensation of climbing the stairs only to discover there was one more step than you remembered there being—it stuck out, catching her attention. Tilting her head, she backed up a few steps onto the sidewalk and stared at the left side of the house.

It was…bigger.

It seemed the house had spread another few feet, at least the portion that contained the living room. Was it a trick of the light? Or had he really…? No, it wasn't a trick. Stepping onto the grass, Belle studied it from all different angles. The house was certainly closer to the neighbors than when she left. It was impossible, but somehow true: the house had grown.

Hurrying into the house, Belle laid the plastic bag of groceries to the side, hung up her coat, and wondered where to start searching for the beloved, gold-spinning object of her affection. No need—he emerged from the kitchen.

"Ah, you're back," he mused with an undisguised hint of relief. His foot nudged the plastic bag, though he did not bend to retrieve it. Perhaps he'd done enough bending for one day. The anxiety was clearly written on his face and she decided it best not to tell him of her encounter with Regina.

"You know, I'm not planning an escape every time I go to town," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. It was another of his insecurities—that at the first chance she got, she would change her mind about the presence of true love between them and head for the hills. Well, the hills inside Storybrooke. "I didn't leave you then and I'm most certainly not leaving you now."

The corners of his lips quirked and he seemed to accept her reassurance. Most people did not stop to consider the insecurities and flaws that plagued him—all they saw was a powerful being capable of causing them misery if they stopped walking on eggshells. To her, his insecurities made him the likeness of a child, in need of comfort and guidance. _Silly man, _she thought with a small smile. _By now, he should realize that a life without him is no longer a preferable option. _

"Oh," she gasped as she delved into her coat pocket and offered him the change left over from the minor shopping trip. There were still a few dollars remaining, as well as a handful of coins. Reaching out, he placed his hand over hers and guided it into a closed fist, trapping the money inside.

"Keep it," he insisted, urging her clenched fist away. It somehow made Belle feel wrong to simply accept it without question—it was his money, after all. Instead, he shook his head. "As an intelligent young woman once pointed out, I have more money than I could ever spend. Buy yourself something nice…next time you're in town."

Belle blushed, but tucked the money away in her pocket. Perhaps she could persuade him to allow her to spend it on an evening at the ice cream shop after this ball was over. There was also a marvelous place called the 'drive-in' where couples could sit in their cars and watch 'movies.' It sounded fun.

"Now, what was so important that you had to rush into town in the first place?" Once more, he nudged the plastic bag with his foot. Swooping down, Belle picked it up and rummaged through it.

"Well, we were out of bread, so I picked up a loaf. Strangely, there were no napkins here, either. What, do you take a bunch, use them once, and throw them away?" His eyes grew guarded due to her taunting. He shrugged.

"Can you blame me for appreciating the habits of a rich pawnbroker?"

Belle rolled her eyes to the heavens, but continued sifting through the bag. How ever did he manage to keep his house stocked properly without her? In this case, he spent more time around the citizens of Storybrooke than he cared to admit, simply shopping for household necessities.

"I also bought some candles. For later in the evening," she said, taking the package from the bag. The smirk on his lips made her blush even more profusely. "I meant for the ball! It will help set the…atmosphere. And I decided that we should send out formal invitations, in case Ruby hasn't had the chance to inform everyone."

Impatiently, he swept the box of invitations from her hands and tossed them on a nearby table. Apparently, his enthusiasm for writing them out would not withstand one guest. She rubbed her palms, already thinking of the time it would take to do it. Then, of course, she'd have to deliver them.

"Trust me, Belle. Red is a wonder when it comes to gossip. People living under rocks would be informed of our ball by now," he argued. Belle did not entirely agree with him.

"You don't think Red would have difficulty telling _everyone?"_

Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows knitted together in suspicion and then it dawned on him. Clasping his hands together over the head of his cane, he smiled knowingly down on her. He was always so smug when he was sure of some piece of knowledge.

"You want to invite the hatter, don't you?" Belle glanced at the window beside the door, as if she could somehow view the house on the hill from here. She wondered if Jefferson could put two and two together just by watching her through his telescope. Did he already know or was he blissfully unaware?

"He_ is_ my friend. Plus, I think he needs something to drag him out of his despair over his daughter," she reasoned. Perhaps she could introduce Jefferson to everyone, as well. The only people who knew about his existence were Regina, Emma, Belle, Grace, and Rumpelstiltskin. "By any chance, is the house…bigger?"

Guilt transpired across his face. His brown eyes were directed at the floor instead of meeting her searching gaze.

"You were only supposed to use magic to clean the living room—" His head snapped up sharply. Swooping forward, he pressed a finger to her lips. Glee danced in the depths of his irises, reminiscent of the imp that used to be.

"Ah, ah, ah! That is where you are wrong, dearie. You never told me to use magic to _clean _the living room. You only instructed that I use it _on _the living room…and I have. I simply expanded it," he explained. At the first downturn of her lips, he removed his hand. He apparently sensed the turmoil boiling inside her. "I'm sorry. Working through deals, playing with meaning and words is a hard habit to break."

Belle's cornflower eyes switched to the living room entrance. To her surprise, there were doors now—double doors of glass and finely carved wood that blocked any clear view of the interior.

"Show me," she requested. He was taken aback by her lack of vehemence before extending his hand, silently asking for hers. Without hesitation, she laid her hand in his and he led her to the doors. "Should I close my eyes?"

For a brief second, he paused to consider it. Then his face glowed with the workings of a plan. She giggled as he removed the tie from his suit, leaving an inch of his skin exposed at the collar. Slipping behind her, the silk tie came down over her eyes, hurtling her straight into darkness, and she could feel him tying it—not too tight, but not too loose, either.

"No peeking," he warned, his breath hot on her earlobe.

Belle stretched her hands out to fumble for the doors, but he caught her wrists, now standing in front of her. Swift as the wind, she never heard him move. His thumbs rubbed circles into her wrists before he guided her forward.

Releasing one of her wrists, there was a small creak as a handle turned and Belle's feet drifted across the threshold. It was significantly warmer in the living room. Now his hands were on her shoulders, directing her into the position he desired. Suddenly, the softness of his lips tickled the skin of her neck.

"Open," he demanded, lifting his hands away from her body. Belle hastily undid the knot in the tie and it fell from her eyes, fluttering to the floor. Belle could never recall a time in her life when she'd been speechless to the point of her mouth hanging wide open, but there was always a first for everything, she supposed.

The living room no longer resembled the living room at all. The clutter had been removed, the dust swept to oblivion, the curtains spread apart to allow sunshine to pass. In its place was a magnificent ballroom. With the absence of clutter and a generous expansion, the room was airy and spacious. Marble flooring gleamed underneath her feet and a delicate chandelier hovered high above her head. It left her breathless and spinning in mad circles to take it all in.

"I take it you like it," Rumpelstiltskin mused as he watched her twirl in her amazement.

Dizzy, she stumbled for a moment. He was still lingering by the doors, cane in hand. From this angle, it appeared he belonged to the dimmer environment of the hall instead of the golden, fanciful one of the ballroom. Gliding over, she clasped his hand and urged him to come further into the ballroom, to share it with her.

"It is lovely," she admitted, her cheeks warming with a soft pink. He threaded his fingers through hers and smirked down at her.

"You see, Belle? All magic comes with a price…but not all magic is necessarily destructive." Setting his cane against the wall, he made a small bow at the waist to her. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her skin. "Now, I'm not much of a dancer with this leg, but…?"

He offered her a hopeful look. Smiling brightly, she allowed him to take her into his arms. As his hands rested on her hips, her arms encircled his neck and they began to sway slowly, rhythmically. Their steps were fluid and smooth across the marble floor, as if they had been dancing together for years.

"There's no music," Belle pointed out. He tilted his head, as if there was indeed a note or two that her ears could not quite catch.

"Think of the most beautiful music you've ever heard…and that is what we shall be dancing to," he said. Belle closed her eyes and mentally reminisced of a sweet song she recalled from childhood. Lilting and silvery, it flowed through her head until she was nearly convinced it was playing within their ballroom.

With her eyes closed, he twirled her outward and then swept her back into his arms. Opening her eyes, she noticed how close his lips were to her own as she lounged in his embrace. Lightly she traced a hand across his jaw, which only encouraged his head to bend further.

"Belle," he murmured the moment his lips brushed hers, though not yet kissing. Blood pumped in her ears and her heart hammered inside her chest. Eyelids fluttering closed, she anticipated the weight of his kiss…

There was a sudden, jarring knock at the front door and it shook them both out of their reverie. Straightening up, Belle loosened herself from his grip and he limped over to retrieve his cane. The spell was broken for now.

"That must be Red," he mused, leading her out of the ballroom and shutting the glass doors behind them. Belle's brow knitted with confusion. He never mentioned inviting her over early. He chuckled at her puzzled expression. "What can I say, love? Every princess must look her best for a ball."

And he went to answer the door.

….

_**Is everyone looking forward to their little ball? I think I might even include a little bit of Mad Swan next chapter. It's past time those two reunited, don't you think? Oh, I am actually excited to write the net chapter. **_

_**But for now, I'd like to thank all those that have reviewed last chapter, even if most of you were freaking out a bit. (-; Here's to DragonRose4, Anonymous Nerd Girl, peacesista123, LionshadeSC, writindownsouth, thedoctorsgirl42, Grace5231973, Bluecanbegreen, rene10, Romance and Musicals, Heart of Diamond, Princess Zelda98, mafer-torres-714, discotimelord, MyraValhallah, PhantomPenguin, and Mooglez. **_

_**Thanks for reading, everyone! **_


	35. Chapter 35

_**A/N: I know it has been a longer wait for this update than I anticipated it would be. Good news, though: this is one amazingly long, exciting chapter for you. Hopefully, it will make up for the wait. There's some Mad Swan, lots of Rumbelle (of course) and a little surprise. Let's see if you people like it. **_

Rumpelstiltskin opened the door to reveal a chipper, smiling Red standing on the porch. In her hands she clutched a pink shopping bag that was stuffed to the point of bursting. She herself wasn't wearing any dress, but a denim skirt, a low-cut V-neck, and bracelets that caught the sunlight and jangled every time she flipped her hair.

"I wish you'd called me earlier," she scolded Rumpelstiltskin. "Beauty emergencies don't exactly repair themselves with a snap of the fingers, you know. At least not for normal human beings." Red did not wait for his invitation to proceed, but instead strode past him into the house. Belle had to fight off the giggle that came from seeing his appalled expression. "Nice crib," Red said approvingly as she studied her surroundings.

"Excuse me?" Rumpelstiltskin was clearly unimpressed as he remained by the open door, his hand curling tightly around the doorknob. Red blinked innocently, oblivious to his discomfort.

"Oh, sorry. It's the teenage waitress in me. 'Crib' is slang for home," she clarified with a tilt of her dark head. Rumpelstiltskin stared back, unsure whether to really take that as a compliment. Excitedly, she spun toward Belle and latched onto her wrist. "So, we've got a lot to do to get you ready for the ball. We should probably do this upstairs."

Red steered Belle to the stairs, past Rumpelstiltskin who was finally alert enough to close the front door, lest some other unwanted townie decide to drop in for a visit.

"Would it not be easier to work on Belle in the kitchen? Need I remind you that one of us is, regrettably, crippled?" Rumpelstiltskin only placed one foot on the first stair, intent on following the girls. Red abruptly spun and shoved a hand in his face, commanding him to halt.

"Sorry. You don't have permission to see the finished product until the ball," she insisted with sharp finality. Rumpelstiltskin didn't even have a chance to object or stake his claim before Red dashed up the stairs with Belle and rounded the corner out of sight.

Belle grew puzzled as Red guided her away—she was acting like it was Belle's wedding day. It was only a ball, after all, and the wait would drive Rumpelstiltskin mad. She could just imagine him pacing in the kitchen, a scowl on his handsome face.

Into the bedroom they flew and Red shut and locked the door behind her. Not that it would keep out Rumpelstiltskin. If he desired entrance, he was capable of it with or without magic. Belle lingered in the corner and watched Red fling the shopping bag on the bed.

"So, where do we begin?" Red's answer came in the form of dumping the contents of the bag onto the bed.

There was a mountainous pile of colorful dresses, boxes of make-up, bottles of perfume, sets of glittering jewelry. Belle had the sinking feeling that this preparation for the ball was going to take a while. Grinning, Red whirled to face her and enthusiastically clapped her hands together.

"First things first: the dress. Then we'll move on to hair, make-up, nails, jewelry, a spritz of dazzling perfume, and shoes. Not in that order." Belle couldn't help but feel dubious about dressing up so elegantly after spending twenty-eight years in dismal conditions. "Trust me; it'll be just like a day at the spa," Red assured her with a comforting hand clasping her shoulder. Belle's brain was befuddled.

"Spa?" Red gave her a long stare of realization.

"Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting you don't have two lives in your head like the rest of us. Your…boyfriend warned me about that." A warm blush touched Belle's cheeks at hearing Rumpelstiltskin being called her boyfriend. It was true, though, wasn't it? "So, which dress is the right one for you?"

Red untangled the dresses, spreading them out one by one. Belle's blue eyes widened as each one was set out before her. Each one was stunning in its own right—there were dresses with bright colors, some with darker tones, dresses with frills, lace, beads, sleeves, plaited designs, curves.

But which one was right?

"Where did you find all these in such short time?" Belle reached out to trace the hem of a low-cut black dress that barely stretched under her fingers. It looked like it would stick to her skin and barely cover her thighs. Imagine if Rumpelstiltskin saw her wearing that; the poor man would likely suffer with yearning the entire night.

Red proudly planted her hands on her hips before she'd even finished the untangling.

"In an old box at Modern Fashions. You'll never believe it—they were practically giving the dresses away for nothing! Though I did sort of splurge on one of them because it was too gorgeous to leave for someone else to lay their hands on." Red scanned the row of dresses and touched a finger to her lips. "Now, where is it? I thought I stuffed it in the bag…oh, yes! Here!"

From the unfinished, tangled pile, Red rescued one of the dresses and unfolded it, holding it up for Belle to speculate. The minute Belle rested her gaze on it, the breath in her lungs ceased. She could hardly believe it except for the fact that it was hovering inches away.

Awed, her fingertips stroked the silky material, nudged one of the crystal beads decorating the low collar. The dress flowed beautifully until it whispered across the floorboards. It swelled her heart with nostalgia of her old home until she could not rightly breathe.

"Well? If you don't like it, there's always this one—" Red started to throw the dress down in favor of another, but Belle snatched it up, cradling it close to her chest. She'd never been a possessive person, but Red could not possibly have made her part with it.

"This is the one," she announced confidently. "This is my dress." Red gladly accepted her eagerness and eventually pried the dress from Belle's fingers. She swept the other dresses from the bed and patted the mattress, instructing Belle to sit down. Red picked up the make-up kit and smiled down at her non-paying customer.

"Let's turn you into a princess."

…..

_Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack…_

It was the only haunting sound bouncing off the walls in the psych ward that evening. Regina loved it, savored it with the richness of a fine wine. It would surely announce her imposing presence to all those still trapped in these filthy cells. Even the head nurse trembled in her shadow.

With a remarkably devious gleam in the abyss of her eyes and a confident stride, she made her way down the bleak, winding hallway. Between her fingers twirled the ring of keys, the silver shining in the yellow light. There was only one patient she was interested in visiting today. It made her red lips stretch into a wicked smirk as she unlocked one of the farthest doors, conveniently located next to that tramp's old one.

Throwing the door open, Regina did not hesitate to step inside the cell, hands clasped patiently before her even though the level of her actual patience was simmering. The patient retreated from the intrusive bright light, blinking a few weary times before he recognized his visitor.

"Is…is it really you? Regina? I mean…my Queen," he croaked, voice dry and rusty with disuse. Judging from his confusion and suspicion, he had suffered from hallucinations of her presence more than once. Lovesick idiot. Thankfully, that kind of emotion would play well to her advantage. So, she smiled.

"Sidney," she greeted coolly. "Tell me, what are your plans for this evening?" He blinked slowly, his mouth hanging open as if he was unsure whether it was a trick question or not. The dull, lifeless glaze deepened in his eyes as he raked through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Aren't I…supposed to stay…in here?" He glanced down at his blue stained hospital gown and flat, cardboard-like mattress. Regina shook her head once and felt a deep satisfaction clawing its way to the surface.

"Wrong. You'll be attending a ball."

….

An hour later, Belle had been plucked, painted, pinched, and pampered enough for one lifetime. Gazing into the mirror above the bathroom sink, there was the reflection of the girl she once was in another world: a princess with a fierce spirit that could outlive any candle. It was as though the curse had never transpired.

Red had left to prepare for the ball in her own right, but her work was still fresh. Chestnut curls framed Belle's heart-shaped face, drifting lavishly over her shoulders. The subtle make-up illuminated her brilliant blue eyes. A smooth layer of red lipstick gave her lips a soft, full appearance. Irresistibly kissable, Red had called it. And her skin…it had a healthy glow that Belle hadn't seen in a while.

Everything was perfect, yet her heart hammered inside her chest every time there was a knock at the front door. Guests had begun to arrive. The murmur of multiple voices rose along the stairwell, growing louder as the quantity of guests increased, slipping under the bathroom door. No doubt Rumpelstiltskin was frantic with longing for her, if only to serve an excuse not to mingle.

Slowly, Belle took a deep breath to calm her nerves, in, out. It was time.

Quietly, she edged the bathroom door open and emerged into the hallway. Something nudged at her brain, something she felt she should be remembering. Excitement clouded her mind and she shook the sensation away.

One by one, she descended onto each step as she made her way downstairs. Already, she could see the crowds of Storybrooke citizens dressed elegantly and spreading through the hallway and ballroom. At the very bottom of the staircase was Rumpelstiltskin, his back facing her as he reluctantly conversed with Red.

One by one, she could feel the weight of stares as people lifted their heads to notice her, some gasping and pointing in their amazement. The only opinion she truly valued was his, if he only turned to see. Finally, Red paused in whatever she was avidly saying to catch her eye and smile. Rumpelstiltskin quickly glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge her presence and then his head whipped around to offer her a double-take.

Clad in the familiar golden dress, Belle was a miraculous vision of the girl she was the night she'd met him, the night their fates crossed. It left him speechless as she stepped down to him, his brown eyes wide with awe. Not even the light scars spiraling across her skin could mar this moment.

"See? I told you I did good with her," Red boasted over Rumpelstiltskin's shoulder. "As a matter of fact, I wouldn't complain if you paid me." Impatiently, Rumpelstiltskin shooed Red away with his hand. It hardly mattered; Red's face had lit up like a shooting star as she scanned the crowd. "Ooh, Belle! There's someone I want you to meet! Be right back!"

Suddenly, Red vanished into the thick crowd and it was only the two of them, though Rumpelstiltskin was still mesmerized beyond words. The intensity of his scrutiny made her blush under the candlelight.

"Red found the dress at one of the shops in town," she offered as a potential ice-breaker, a chance for him to ease back into reality. "You remember?" Belle smoothed her palms along the silk of the dress; his gaze tracked every movement she made. Gently, he reached out and claimed her hand.

"How could I forget?" Belle stepped down to his level and he placed a hand on the small of her back, sending shivers dancing along her spine. His fingers brushed one of the beads on the straps, teasing her skin. "I kept that dress long after you were gone from my castle," he murmured thoughtfully. Belle raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Is that so? Were you planning to pass it on to the next caretaker you hired?" Despite the fact that she was teasing him, his expression darkened with seriousness. He held a finger close to her lips, demanding her silence.

"One, dearie, I never hired another caretaker. You were my one and only investment. Two—" He added another finger to the one already lifted. His face softened as his hand cupped her chin and guided her to look him directly in the eyes. "No one in all the realms could ever make that dress look half as tempting as it does on your body."

The compliment fluttered her insides pleasantly. Extending his arm, Belle gladly linked her arm around it. The shocked expressions on most of the guests' faces were quite amusing to behold as the two joined the crowd. It was then that Red caught up with them again, dragging two women behind her. It seemed she did that a lot.

"Belle, there you are! Okay, I would like you to meet—" She thrust the closest girl in her path. "My best friend, Snow White."

The name rang a bell in her mind—this was supposedly the fairest of them all, as Rumpelstiltskin once described. Not that he was very enthusiastic about it. Belle couldn't help but admire the friendly smile waiting, the enchanting green eyes unlike any shade of spring leaves, and the pale skin that was nearly white as snow. The haircut she sported was a bit choppy for a princess, but it was ebony in hue, darker than any other brunette in the room.

Snow White eagerly extended her hand to greet her—she had a warm grip.

"Pleasure to meet you. Red's told me a lot about you," she admitted. "Most of it right before she swept me away from Charming." Red rolled her eyes guiltily, but held her tongue.

"Snow White….as in _the _Snow White?" Snow spread her hands out, as if to prove that she was it. The girl behind her stepped into view and Belle's mind flashed with recognition as she met Emma's hard gaze.

"Are you still stuck on the Disney version, too?" Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat, which to Belle's ears might have been a little chuckle. She'd never heard of any Snow White other than the one the Queen and Rumpelstiltskin spoke about. Snow offered Emma a patient, silent exchange and nodded.

"I expect the Queen has brought my name up more than once," she said. Belle winced against the onslaught of memories, of the rare days when the Queen would storm down to the dungeon just to rage about the evil incarnation known as Snow White. How could someone with such a blessedly pure name be evil?

"She does complain more than the average person," Belle agreed. She almost felt bad about talking ill about the Queen, except for the fact that it was true. It was fortunate that Rumpelstiltskin chose not to invite her. Then again, he'd sooner sic a wild pack of dogs on her at the front door and sip lemonade while enjoying the show.

"Indeed," he muttered. For a moment there, Belle thought he may have read her mind due to the smirk playing on the corners of his lips. Snow and Emma grew stiff under the reminder of whose ball this truly was and whose house they were standing in. Red quickly shoved Emma forward.

"And this is Emma," she announced. Emma backed away from Rumpelstiltskin out of mere distrust and Belle was sure that all of them were reminiscing about the time spent in the cabin. There was certainly a displeased scowl on Emma's face.

"Yeah, we've met before. Under very uncomfortable circumstances," she stated, sneaking angry glances at Rumpelstiltskin. Only now his eyes were narrowing in warning; any further and Emma would be at risk of breaking the deal that allowed her freedom from the cabin. She must have realized it, too, for she hurried to cover her tracks. "Circumstances which we're not talking about here. Or anywhere." Snow and Red gave her mirrored, confused glances while Belle studied the floor, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

"So, how did you two meet, anyway?" Red abruptly changed the subject, waiting expectantly for Belle and Rumpelstiltskin's answer. Curiosity arose in Snow's eyes and she inevitably took a step forward, tilting her head to listen. Emma and Rumpelstiltskin shared an expression of tension, probably wishing to be anywhere but there between Snow and Red.

"It must be quite a wonderful story if you two fell in love," Snow offered kindly while Belle struggled for a way to explain.

How did she even begin to describe how Rumpelstiltskin made a deal for her as his caretaker, locking her away in the dungeon and treating her with aloofness before they discovered true love? There were so many elements and tender moments in the months spent at his castle that it would be impossible to convey them to those that were convinced they needed to fear his power. They didn't know him as well as she did—they didn't know how sincere he could be on his own terms.

"Just watch the Disney version. It's Cliff Notes for fairy tales," Emma intercepted, saving Belle from the act of revealing the most intimate moments of her life. She smiled gratefully at the blonde, who insistently tugged Snow away. Red clung to Snow's other arm, a chain of women splitting the crowd.

"Maybe we can have a girls' night out some time," she suggested, panning her gaze between Snow, Emma, and Belle. Snow resisted Emma's urgent grip to nod enthusiastically. Red looked hopefully to Belle, though she was trying to avoid gazing at Rumpelstiltskin for permission as well.

"I'd like that," Belle agreed. Red grinned victoriously before skirting behind Snow and Emma, swallowed by the crowd in moments. She wrapped her arm tighter around Rumpelstiltskin's and beamed up at him. "See? This isn't too bad."

Grimacing, he viewed the expansive crowd as if it were a battalion of dragons waiting to be slayed.

"Let's get this over with," he sighed warily. At Belle's warning look—she lectured him earlier about being on his best behavior and even threatened him with the dagger about forcing him to be one of those cheerful maître 'ds serving drinks—he visibly straightened and gestured her forward. "The sooner you can be introduced to everyone in Storybrooke, the sooner I can get these people out of my house."

…

"Hey, sister," a gruff voice rose from a foot behind Belle, startling her until she nearly dropped her cup. She spun to see another familiar face—a short, bearded man whose bloodshot eyes were alight with recognition. And how could she miss the group of six men lingering in the corner, pretending to refill their cups for a chance to observe?

Finishing her drink, Belle set the cup down and joined the dwarf.

"Dreamy," her tongue worked faster than her brain. He opened his mouth to correct her, but she held up her hands. "Wait, I know. You're Grumpy now." Grumpy grinned in acknowledgement and peered sideways at the six men over his shoulder.

"I see you've met the others, then," he said. The blush in her cheeks revealed her answer and she shrugged.

"Well, I've met one. Sneezy," she admitted. It amazed her that such intricate technicalities flowed so easily from her lips, after all the time she spent with Rumpelstiltskin. The object of her affection, who was enduring a conversation with Charming and consistently watching over her. He was never as subtle as he liked to believe.

All of a sudden, Grumpy turned around to face his 'brothers' and waved them over. The six of them ushered forward through the crowd, bustling up to stand by Grumpy. Belle could not help but smile politely at each of them in turn.

"Belle, this is Doc, Sleepy, Bashful, Dopey, Happy…and obviously you know Sneezy," Grumpy introduced, pointing out each dwarf as their names were announced. Belle made a small, gentle curtsy for them. Etiquette had been ingrained in her mind since childhood. Ironically, the only one she would never curtsy for was the Queen.

"Any friend of Dre—ah, Grumpy—is a friend of mine," she humbly ensured. If there was any uncertainty over the fact that Belle was Rumpelstiltskin's lady love and therefore untrustworthy, it was barely noticeable now as the dwarfs flocked around her, moths drawn to a bright flame.

"I hoped I would meet you again," Grumpy said, offering her a sheepish half-grin. "I always wanted to thank you for that night in the tavern, when you told me about true love. It didn't work out between Nova and me in the Enchanted Forest, but we've reunited and…let me find her. Where…?"

A loud clash disrupted the ball as the table holding the drinks and food crashed to the floor, rising in the air like the end of a sinking ship. Food and liquid splattered the floor and walls as well as the formal wear of a handful of guests unfortunately standing a bit too close. Grumpy grumbled under his breath.

"I've found her," Doc grimly declared, staring accusingly at Grumpy through his half-moon spectacles. The ball gradually picked up pace again, though endless murmurs and whispers circulated the room. What was worse: Rumpelstiltskin was detaching himself from Charming's side and heading straight for them.

At the same time, a petite woman in a frothy pink dress appeared next to Grumpy, picking bits of pickle and cake out of her hair. Everything about her was simply…energetic. From the mass of brown, frizzy ringlets on her head to the bounce in her movements. She offered everyone an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. I was pouring myself a drink and I…somehow…tripped over the table and…" She lowered her head in shame as their eyes inevitably trailed to the fallen table, still sinking. The girl wrung her hands together nervously. "That happens quite a lot."

Grumpy easily dismissed it with a flick of his wrist. The manner in which he gazed at her, as if she were the only woman in the room despite her clumsiness, signaled to Belle that this was her, the one. Grumpy's true love, in the flesh.

"Please, sister. We've all been there. Heck, I once drove a car through someone's living room while intoxicated. Try cleaning up that mess," he replied. The woman smiled gratefully at his effort to take the blame off her. "Belle, I'd like you to meet Nova."

The fairy started to extend her hand in eager greeting, but just as quickly retracted it before Belle could ever grasp it. Simultaneously, the dwarfs stiffened, their heads dipping, shoes scuffling the floor and averting their focus to anything in the room but Belle. She reeled back, astonished by their abrupt frosty aloofness. She was about to ask the reason when a firm hand slid along her back.

Oh. That was why.

"Funny. I must have forgotten to hang the 'Fairies Need Not Attend' sign on my door," he mocked, staring directly at Nova. Belle shot him an appalled look at being so rude in front of guests. It was no secret that he detested spending any amount of time around these people, but did he necessarily have to make comments like that?

"I…I'll clean the mess up. You won't even realize it was there," Nova insisted, turning as pink as her dress. Grumpy rested a hand on her shoulder for comfort and did not hesitate to glare at Rumpelstiltskin. He scowled down at Nova and narrowed his eyes in warning.

"I'm counting on it," he retorted, shaking her up even more. The poor girl paled like a ghost, nearly ready to pass out under the weight of Rumpelstiltskin's stare. Sensing her distress, Grumpy gripped Nova's arm and urged her to turn away, the dwarfs already scattering into the crowd.

"Come on, Nova. Nice talkin' to you, sister," he called over his shoulder at Belle as the couple slipped away. The minute they were out of sight, Belle rounded on him, arms crossing defiantly over her chest. He winced while she seethed; it was good to know he wasn't completely ignorant when it came to his faults.

"Just because you had the misfortune of losing your son does not mean you can hang it over the head of every fairy," she scolded, trying to keep her voice at a whisper. Instantly, his eyes sparked with rage at the mention of his son and he recoiled from her touch. The last time she'd witnessed such fury in his eyes was right after she kissed him in his castle.

"_She _cost me my _son. _If that jellyfish-tutu-wearing mosquito hadn't offered him that magic bean, I would have had him by my side. He would have been there with me, not lost in a land without magic. And I—"

"Wouldn't have met me," she whispered solemnly. Stunned, he stared her up and down, as though trying to picture a world without her in it. There had been a time like that once and according to him it had been dull, bleak, lackluster. She lifted her blue eyes to meet his and frowned. "Tell me the truth. If you had your son all those years ago, would you have still come that night? Would you have taken me?"

Belle watched the fight drain slowly out of him. The rage seeped away, his nostrils ceased flaring, though there was still that stubborn pout on his lips that reminded her of a child's. Softly, his hand tucked the free strands of hair behind her ear, tracing the skin of her jaw. They both knew the answer—it was unlikely that he would have looked her way if things had been different. His boy would have been enough to make him happy.

"Belle…I need someone to blame, don't I?"

A pang of despair shot through her heart as she glimpsed a sharp insight into his mind. A rare feat, considering he was always guarded even around her. Torn over the loss of his child, he needed to point the finger at someone. He was simply too afraid to point it at his own chest, to admit it was as much his fault as the fairies'.

All too quickly, he regained that sense of control once more and the insight vanished like someone had thrown a stone into a river, making it ripple. Despite the mask he wore to shield his emotions, she knew he was hurting. Gently, Belle placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. She squeezed slightly to show she understood.

"Will you at least try to be on your best behavior?" _Don't make me fetch the dagger, _she almost teased, but she instinctively knew this was not a good time for quips. Reluctantly, he exhaled and dipped his head.

"I suppose I could direct my rage at the Blue Fairy instead," he muttered. That wasn't quite what she expected…but it was a start towards rehabilitation. At least she hoped so.

…

As the ball drew on, the majority of the patrons visibly relaxed and slipped into the elegant atmosphere of fine food and good company. Reunions transpired throughout the room, laughter arose as people reminisced over memories long forgotten, and two by two the entwined couples swept out onto the ballroom floor to be carried away with the soft strings of music.

Eagerly, Belle had joined in like a child being allowed to her first ball, switching between partners as fluidly as the flowing of a river, her golden dress enchanting as it glided across the floor. This, she found, was the easiest way to meet people, taking a few minutes at a time to fly across the ballroom in the arms of princes and nobles alike.

"So, you're _not_ Rumpelstiltskin's niece…right?" David…no, _Prince Charming_ smiled sheepishly upon her as he guided her smoothly, one step, two step. They had formed a manner of trading questions, so much that Belle lost track of the time as she conversed with him.

It was good to see a familiar face in the crowd. Despite a different identity, she still felt kind and sympathetic toward this man who was driven by the essence of true love. This world certainly could use a dose of it.

"No, of course not," she replied, stifling a giggle. David Nolan had been under the impression that Rumpelstiltskin was in relation to her? My, that sent a scorching blush to her cheeks. If her father ever got wind of that, he'd be blowing their door down like the big, bad wolf. No offense to Red.

"That's good," Charming sighed with obvious relief, wiping a sleeve across his brow. "You just…seem much too fond of one another for that sort of familial relation."

Her eyes strayed over his shoulder to where Rumpelstiltskin rested against a wall, watching her like a hawk. He refused to participate in a dance with anyone else, but then there appeared to be few takers. It was a miracle enough that he was enduring the ball at all. The Dark One never was one for extraordinary celebrations.

"My turn," she declared. "Is Prince Charming your real name?" Twirling her across the floor at arm's length, Charming flashed a bright smile. He gently reeled her back in and seemed to be enjoying the questionnaire as much as she was. Thoughtfully, he shook his head.

"Heavens, no. I've not yet met a woman that would name her son something so…narcissistic. It's a nickname that Snow pinned on me during our first journey together. Needless to say, it stuck. She only calls me by my real name when she's mad at me."

Belle observed the way his attention snapped to his wife at the moment her focus sought him out, connecting as swiftly as magnets. It was genuine love in the making. There was a soft tenderness in the prince's eyes that would never be reflected for any other woman.

"I'm glad everything worked out between you two," Belle earnestly stated. This was proof that the Queen's wrath was short-lived, that people could once again find happiness. Love never truly dies, but reawakens in new forms unexpected. It was floating in the air—a brighter day had surfaced with the breaking of the curse and the Queen would not win.

"And you as well," Charming said, looking pointedly to Rumpelstiltskin. He mustn't have been very fond of the prince for he quickly averted his gaze elsewhere. But Charming's blue eyes were gleaming as if he'd just realized something spectacular. "Ah, so you're the magnificent flicker of light. I knew she had to be somewhere. Though rumor had it you were dead."

Belle's brow furrowed with puzzlement as the music faded into the background. Stepping politely back, Charming clasped her hand and brought it to his lips for a chaste kiss. She could feel Rumpelstiltskin's murderous jealousy radiating from here. It was made worse by the fact that Charming did not immediately drop her hand, but parted his lips to say something.

"Not many people are willing to say so, but he is lucky to have someone as good as you. You're his flicker of light, the purest thing in this world that keeps him from falling too deep into that ocean of darkness. Haven't you ever wondered why the Queen seemed to be incapable of love?"

Before Belle could answer, a few silver notes of music pierced the silence and Charming rejoined Snow for an intimate dance of their own. The prince's words echoed inside her head, spinning in a whirlpool of sincerity and truth. _You're the flicker of light…_

It cast a warm glow in her chest to know that someone else believed she held so much meaning in Rumpelstiltskin's well-being. Without any such beam of light, he'd surely have finished that downward spiral of corruption long ago.

A hand stretched into her vision, interrupting her thoughts. Belle glanced up and smiled upon recognizing Jefferson. Or, nearly, anyway. He'd trimmed his unkempt hair and cleaned up rather nicely in a polished charcoal suit. One of his cravats still disguised his crude scar, a fine black fabric threaded with silver. Remarkably, he'd had enough sense to leave his magic hat at home.

"May I have this dance?" Quite the gentleman when he wanted to be, wasn't he? He even made a little bow for his effort.

Gladly, Belle accepted his invitation to dance and Jefferson pulled her into a tight embrace. If not for the fact that he was hopelessly enthralled with Emma, it might have been regarded as a romantic notion, perhaps an attempt to gain an upper hand against Rumpelstiltskin. Their rivalry would never end, it seemed. Instead, Jefferson's brown eyes hopelessly scanned the crowd for a different princess.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," Belle said, drawing Jefferson's distant attention. He smirked down at her as the two of them spun in slow circles.

"Well, it was a difficult decision. Attend a fancy-shmancy ball in honor of one of my dearest lady friends or stay at home making another tattered, useless hat that's only good for keeping someone's head warm. It was a close vote."

Even as he quirked an eyebrow in good humor, Belle felt a terrible sting of sympathy for him. Out of all the people in Storybrooke, Jefferson was probably the one most itching to return to his homeland. Luckily, his elated expression overrode her worries.

"Good news: while you were out shopping for dresses and re-designing your living room, I found Grace."

Pausing in the middle of the dance floor, Jefferson pointed to the opposite end of the room where Grace was sitting with Henry. The two of them sipped from glass cups and laughed like little kids often do when parents aren't watching. As if sensing her father's adoration, Grace looked up and grinned at Belle. It made Belle's heart swell to see Grace smiling and safe.

"Congratulations," Belle praised Jefferson, who was unable to take his eyes from his daughter in the fear she might vanish into another mysterious black cloud of a curse.

Never had Belle known Jefferson to wear his heart on his sleeve—the only exception had been Emma. But now, the love that softened his handsome features would be impossible for the Three Blind Mice to miss. It was as though he vowed not to miss another moment.

"You two deserve to be happy," Belle said and she meant it with all her heart. Jefferson's eyes abruptly hardened as they strayed from Grace to the back of Emma's blonde head as she disappeared through the kitchen. He looked back at her, asking for permission to leave. Belle nodded and broke free from his grasp.

"Tell her how you really feel," she reminded him. She caught herself before she could wag a finger in his face. Jefferson gave a generous bow and then he was off, chasing after his true love. It seemed this ball had been a good thing, after all.

Now Belle was alone on the dance floor, the other couples circling about her. The music changed to an even softer tone, the notes making her skin tingle with pleasure. There was only one man she had the urge to dance with and he would dance, whether he liked it or not.

Striding across the ballroom floor, Belle made a direct line for Rumpelstiltskin and deftly caught his hands atop his cane. Instantly, his eyes widened as she wrenched the cane from his grip and leaned it against the wall. Realizing her intentions, he rooted his feet to the spot and shook his head.

"Belle, I…I can't do this," he protested, growing noticeably flustered as his eyes reeled across the countless guests turning their heads in their direction. But Belle was persistent, tugging him forward past the crowd. "Trust me, dearie, I'm not too good a dancer with this leg."

"You were doing fine this afternoon," she argued, unrelenting in her demands. If he was hoping to gain support from the overwhelming flock of guests, he was mistaken; the crowd simply parted for the two of them as though Rumpelstiltskin was a walking disease.

"Yes, but this afternoon I did not have nearly every citizen in Storybrooke in my living room," he retorted through clenched teeth. They were almost through the crowd now and heat rose along Belle's bare neck as she struggled with dragging his body forward. He could be quite stubborn when it suited him.

"It sounds like someone has a case of stage fright," she teased. "You promised you'd save me a dance. I've had a dance with plenty of other men in Storybrooke and now I want to dance with _you_," she insisted, guiding his hand to her waist. It was knotted with tension, but it stayed there, caressing the silk of her gown. "Please?"

One thing she had learned during her stay in the Dark Castle was that the word 'please' was one of Rumpelstiltskin's favorites. It was his form of 'open sesame', the key to unlocking his innermost cooperation and desires. Another moment of hesitation and she was about to bat her eyelashes.

Under her fingertips, she could feel his resistance breaking apart, the anxious lines knitting his brow smoothing out. Finally, he gave a ragged sigh of defeat and allowed her to lead him freely into the open for everyone to see. A part of her knew that he was only agreeing to please her; if it had been any other woman, he'd have refused until he was a broken record.

With the gentle chords of the music strumming in their ears, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin gradually began to swirl across the ballroom floor, first with slow and measured steps before their feet seemed to move with a life all their own. The candles above cast a golden hue over every surface, illuminating the fabric of Belle's dress as though it were stitched from the essence of stars.

For Belle, the moment could not be more perfect; for Rumpelstiltskin, it was nerve-wracking. The flames of the candles were too bright, flickering wildly back and forth. The crystal chandelier above their heads appeared to vibrate with each movement they made, the delicate teardrops quivering, or perhaps it was his imagination. There were too many pairs of speculative eyes watching.

He couldn't do this…

"Relax," Belle cooed, purposefully sliding his hand upwards along her waist. "There is no one I'd rather be dancing with than you." The message seemed to inspire a seed of confidence that was not there before. She was his and vice versa.

With time, he allowed himself to ease his mind and dive headfirst into the presence of Belle. The music carried them away, though their bodies were attracted to one another, inevitably drawing closer with each step. Gently, he held her in his arms, drowning in the rich Caribbean blue of her irises. Nothing else mattered expect the rapid pulse of their hearts, beating to the same rhythm.

The smooth texture of her skin overlapping his, the way the chestnut curls shined and yet threaded as easily as silk through his fingers, the sweet scent of rose wafting around her like a natural aroma…this was the closest his soul could ever come to heaven's gates.

And to see her smile so willingly with the notion that he was the dearest object of her affection…it only gave him incentive to sweep her up tighter and never let her go again. Forget the fringes of the crowd and the on-lookers as they became absorbed in each other—let them watch. The passion the two of them had been keeping secret exploded between them, bursting forward like a long-awaited firework.

At the height of the musical piece, with Belle lounging in his embrace, her hands navigated their way across his chest to his neck, gazing longingly into his eyes without the slightest intention of breaking away. His hand caressed her jaw, delving into the depths of her hair. His head dipped down so that their lips could meet and he'd never tasted anything sweeter.

Pouring into him like the most luxurious wine, he breathed Belle as swiftly as he would air. There was a small moan, but neither of them knew the source of it. As the kiss reached its climax, Belle's lips parted and she released a breathy sigh, elucidating nothing but pleasure. All he could do was open his eyes and admire her inch by inch.

"Come with me. I have something…to show you," he said, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip.

Belle leaned her head into the support of his hand and smiled in response. She would willingly go anywhere with him, if he only asked. Together, ignoring the 'ahhhs' and whispers of the guests, they cut a straight path through the crowd in search of a place that offered a bit more solace and solitude.

…..

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

Emma shivered—she convinced herself it was the chill of Maine weather—and turned toward the eccentric voice that had interrupted her somber solitude. After being toted around Gold's—uh, Rumpelstiltskin's—house and being introduced to princes, princesses, and all other creatures of the kingdoms, she desperately needed a breath of fresh air. Everyone kept calling her 'Princess Emma' and it irked her.

"Not if you're wearing a dress," she retorted to Jefferson as he slid the door to the kitchen shut with a tinny _click_.

Admittedly, he looked quite handsome in a suit, even if a cravat still hid the scar around his neck. She hadn't seen him since that day in the cabin, but for some reason, she had found it difficult to ever really drive him from her mind. Often, she remembered that one searing kiss…Damn it, now he was flashing that million-dollar grin.

"Well, I can safely say I'll never know what that feels like." The soles of his shoes crunched over the frost-ridden grass as he approached with the caution of closing in on a raging bull. Emma scoffed and gazed up at the black night sky, sprinkled with stars.

Truthfully, she was grateful for his presence. It was better than listening to Snow compare Emma's brief baby status with Cinderella's baby. Fabric settled over her shoulders and she noticed that Jefferson had taken off his jacket and draped it over her, leaving only a white dress shirt clinging to his body. Her eyes lingered on the stretch of skin visible near his neck due to the first button being undone. Catching herself, she glanced away, blushing fiercely.

"Since when are you a gentleman?" Still, Emma found her shoulders rolling and shrugging into the warmth of his jacket. The faint hint of cologne teased her nostrils and she fought the urge to push her nose against the fabric. Burying his fists in his pockets, he gave her a condescending look.

"Princess Emma, stubborn as usual," he clucked. So, he was doing it, too. Calling her Princess Emma, except his use of the title was in the form of mockery. "Here I thought the two of us had gotten to know each other quite well." He chided her, leaning forward on his toes. And there was that mad, arrogant quality again. It suited him. "I am _always _a gentleman."

"Right," she snorted. "Because invading personal space, drugging tea, and holding women hostage at gunpoint constitutes as being a gentleman." Tilting his head, his expression remained placid as he weighed her accusations. Or was he about to play the evil twin card?

"Alright, you got me. I'm a gentleman…_most_ of the time. Perhaps you're the one to blame. You're so intriguing and attractive; I can hardly contain my madness."

This time, Emma could not suppress the exasperation spreading through her face. He was just turning out to be a regular Prince Charming. She didn't know whether to be disturbed by that comment or regard it as a compliment.

"I found Grace," he abruptly changed the subject. Judging by his enthusiasm—he was inches from bouncing on his toes—he'd been meaning to tell her this.

He looked to the sliding glass door of the kitchen and she followed his gaze. From this angle, she could easily peer into the entrance hall, where Henry sat with a little girl in a light colored dress. Grace. Not Paige, as she'd been dubbed in this world.

Emma recalled the painful relief she'd experienced when Henry miraculously awoke from that sleeping curse after she'd thought she lost him forever. She was secretly glad that Jefferson had reunited with his daughter; truly, she could not fault someone who fought solely for their child.

"Good for you," she said without any drop of sarcasm. She nudged her heel in the ground, struggling to release the words on her tongue. She was never good at swallowing her pride—she figured she got that from her father. "You were right."

There, it was out. Off her chest, in the open, her conscience cleared. Jefferson whipped his head around and gaped solidly at her for a full minute. Then he cupped his hand to his ear, stepping closer.

"I'm sorry. What was that you said?" Jerk. She wanted to elbow him in the ribs, maybe whack him on the back of the head and mess up his styled hair. Figures he had to rub it in like this. He couldn't just nod politely, could he? Then again, if she desired simple and boring, she'd be in the ballroom with all the other royal guests.

"You were right about the curse," she reluctantly repeated. Jefferson grinned pleasurably, threading his fingers together before him. It was as though he'd been waiting all this time just to hear her spill that admission. Emma despised that immense glee on his face.

"Well, I hate to say I told you so…" He pointed a finger in her face, his lips splitting into a jack-o-lantern smile. "I told you so." Emma thrust her head forward, making to snap his finger in her jaws, but he jumped back and made a low, disapproving _tsk-tsk. _

"You deserve it," she thundered before he could protest, flipping the long itchy strands of her blonde hair impatiently over the fabric of his coat. Jefferson side-stepped in front of her, blocking her view of all things not-Jefferson. She had to admit, he must have been one spoiled child to garner such spotlight.

Swiftly, he captured one of the loose strands of her hair and twirled it playfully between his fingers, the tips rubbing across it and savoring the wavy texture. His hand was inches from her skin; she was practically sweating from the heat radiating off his body.

"Not as much as I deserve a kiss for opening that tenacious mind of yours," he boldly stated. If he was trying to impress her or steal that kiss, it wasn't working in his favor.

The strand of pale gold slipped from his fingers, all traces of humor gone. Did he finally realize how arrogant and invasive he came off? His demeanor shifted to one of complex concentration; she'd never seen this serious side before, not even when he was pointing a gun at her. There was always some underlying excitement or anticipation. She surely did not know whether this was an act. Jefferson would have done wonders for Broadway, what with the countless personas he wore as comfortably as his hats.

"Someone advised me to tell you how I feel," he mumbled, barely audible in his unsettlement. It seemed he wasn't going to mention who that mysterious person was, either. She'd place bets with her yellow Bug that it was Belle. Emma fixed the jacket tighter around her shoulders, the lapels tickling her neck as the wind began to blow. She tapped her foot on the ground.

"So, what's the problem? Cheshire cat got your tongue?" Jefferson raked a clenched hand through his dark hair, ruining any neatness it had. Restlessly, he began to pace the ground in front of her, thinking. He glared in response to her taunt, unimpressed.

"Ha, ha. Amusing. I've heard better jokes from the caterpillar," he growled, rolling his ebony eyes.

Emma felt it best not to ask about the caterpillar. From what she remembered of _Alice in Wonderland_, at least the Disney version, the caterpillar spent his time lounging on a mushroom, blowing smoke rings, and asking nonsensical questions. Was there a White Rabbit, too? Was the Queen of Hearts Regina's best friend?

Oblivious to her mental entertainment of tearing a classic story to shreds, Jefferson made odd motions with his hands and bounced around like an addict on detox.

"Okay, here it is. I'm not good at being…honest. Quite frankly, my tale isn't a very pretty one. I've never been that lucky in love. I lost my wife when Grace was five and she's the only thing I had left to keep me…sane. Before that, I was a portal jumper, reckless, pretentious, arrogant…"

"Doesn't seem like you've changed much," Emma remarked sorely, but Jefferson was too wrapped up in his confessions to listen. Licking his lips, his brows furrowed as he summoned up the right words that might make her _see. _Finally, he stopped directly in front of her and waved his hands toward her without really touching.

"But you…I don't know how…maybe it's magic, but you make me forget all of it. The bad stuff is shut away in the past, completely unimportant. You make me want to _try _to be someone better…"

He paused, chewing down on his lip as her uncertainty shined through. It was as if she could not believe she was hearing this fall from his mouth. Even worse, behind it there was pity—pity for the woes he'd suffered, someone to be patted comfortingly on the shoulder with a little '_there, there; it'll be alright; lie, lie, lie.'_

Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, he strode past her, walking away. Giving up the fight.

"I told you I wasn't good at this." His feet thudded over the grass, mentally beating himself up and berating about how foolish he'd sounded. It just wasn't his style, opening the door to his innermost thoughts and memories. Like any woman—especially one as hard-edged as Emma—would understand.

"Jefferson," she called out to his retreating back. He halted a foot from the sliding glass door, his fingers hesitating just above the handle. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Sucking in a tentative breath, he whirled on his heel. Emma was studying him with those calculating green eyes and slowly she slid his jacket from her bare shoulders. "You forgot your jacket."

Oh. Right. No need to get over-excited, Jefferson. It was a slip of the mind, just an old worn jacket that would end up back in the abyss of his walk-in closet by the end of tonight. No big deal.

Expectations shot to hell, Jefferson stalked back and roughly accepted his jacket. For a brief second, their fingers brushed and he tried to ignore the stirring deep down. He bit his lip again just to stifle it and tasted something metallic. He'd bitten his tongue instead.

"It'd be cause for a world disaster if I left without my jacket," he muttered, shrugging it on over his tense shoulders. Emma dipped her head in agreement.

"Among other things," she whispered.

He was turning away when he caught it, gentle as the wind. Once again, he was convinced this must be a mind trick. There was no other explanation as to why Emma's hand was still hanging there without the jacket or the fact that there was a bright gleam in her green eyes. It must be the light. Yes, the shadows were distracting him or else Emma's pink lips really were rising into an inviting smile and she was watching him so expectantly…

Something inside him snapped and he took a flying leap of faith.

Cupping her chin, his lips crashed over hers and locked her in a demanding kiss. It was a simple kiss, enough to tell her exactly how he felt in the way words would not allow. It lasted for a mere ten seconds, but it was the best ten seconds of his night so far. As he broke away, Emma's breathing had grown heavier and she stared up at him with widened eyes, her lip a strawberry shade from his kiss.

And then she kissed him back.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down to her and met his lips again. Jefferson found it was all too easy to lose himself in her, his hands weaving into her blonde hair and urging her closer. She tasted like chocolate and cinnamon, he decided. He liked it. Her body fit against his, a perfect puzzle piece. Tilting her head back, their lips separated and she patted his chest approvingly.

"I think I'm warm enough now." With Emma on his arm, they headed back inside to join the rest of Storybrooke. Her parents might not be too thrilled by their sudden closeness—heck, Snow White kicked him through his own window—but he had a feeling this would be the start of a good relationship.

…..

Under Rumpelstiltskin's guidance, Belle was steered into the hallway and then the kitchen. On their way, they passed Emma and Jefferson, miraculously enjoying each other's company. Belle didn't miss the little wink Jefferson gave her as the couple headed into the ballroom to rejoin the main party. She didn't miss Rumpelstiltskin's little chuckle, either.

"Wonders never cease," he mumbled under his breath as they approached the sliding glass door leading out into the backyard. With every passing second, Belle felt this ball had been an excellent idea not just for her relationship with Rumpelstiltskin, but for other couples that needed that spark after the three decades spent under a curse. True loves were discovered, people were falling in love.

The second the cool night air grazed Belle's skin, she moaned with bliss. It was such a stark contrast to the humid interior of the ballroom crowded with equally warm bodies that she found herself stretching her arms to embrace it. The night sky glittered with white, twinkling stars—it was one of the scarce things that would never change between worlds.

Behind her, Rumpelstiltskin shifted uncomfortably for some reason, the end of his cane nudging the moist earth. Here she suspected he would be glad to get away from the goings-on of the ball. As she turned to him, silently inquiring his need for fresh air, she noticed his muscles begin to relax now that he did not need to uphold his mask of indifference for the citizens of Storybrooke.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" There was something on his mind; she could sense it from the way he averted his gaze and struggled for words. Never had he been at a loss for words before Belle entered his life. He studied a spot on the ground with immense concentration.

"Forgive me. It's been centuries since I've done this last," he murmured, patting his pockets as though searching for something. "I lost you once before. I'm not willing to make that mistake a second time." Belle tilted her head in curiosity and wondered what he was planning. His eyes brightened as he slipped a hand into his suit and revealed a small black velvet box. "Hold my cane?"

Uncertainly, Belle reached out and took his cane, leaving his hands free of everything except the little box. Again, he glanced down at the ground like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. Groaning, he lowered his body, falling forward onto one knee.

Belle's fingers gripped the cane to her chest as he lightly clasped one of her hands, his lips planting small kisses across her knuckles. Is this what he wanted to show her? Fealty?

"You know I have been trying to be a better man for you," he whispered against her skin. Even though he was not meeting her eyes yet, she nodded. It was a grueling task for him, having been a slave to power for centuries, but he was trying to change for her. _You're his flicker of light, _Charming had said. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm afraid I don't know _everything…_but I know that I never want to be without you. You are…the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

Releasing her hand, he shifted forward on the ground, wincing at the discomfort in his knee. Brown eyes blazing into hers, he snapped the lid of the small velvet box open to reveal a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring set with sapphires on either side. It was exquisite; it must have cost…all the gold he'd ever spun. Suddenly, she remembered a few times where she'd woken in the night or sought him out during the day—he'd be spinning in the basement at his wheel, just like old times. Was this the reason?

Memories resurfaced in a jumble—the weight of anxiety that had been circling him for the past day or so, the slip of the tongue as he referred to her as his 'wife', the secret exchange of eyes between Red and Rumpelstiltskin…Red. Had she been in on this, too? Is that why she was excited to prepare Belle so lavishly for the ball?

Breathless, Belle gazed down at Rumpelstiltskin as he offered that ring to her, the meaning of it making her heart convulse.

"Would you do me the honor…of being my wife?" Immediately, Belle's lips parted, ready to say '_yes, of course'. _But she hesitated. He loved her; there was no question about it. But she recalled his earlier words, of how he'd never want to lose her again. She needed to know…what he was thinking.

"Are you doing this _only _because you're afraid of losing me? As insurance?" He frowned, not expecting that question. This way, if anything were to happen, they could be unified for a time. It thrilled Belle and saddened her all at the same time. Was he expecting some form of danger?

"No, of course not," he denied, shaking his head so that his hair cascaded across his eyes. "It's true I am worried everyday about losing you as I did before. But I'm doing this because there is no one else I can be happy with. I have been unhappy for centuries, ever since…" He quieted, unable or unwilling to reminisce over sore memories of his boy. She wanted so much to ease his pain. "Trust me, there is no woman that could make me a better man. You are everything I've lost, everything I need. Belle, sweetheart…"

The expression on his face, that hopeful sincere expression, mirrored the one he wore upon handing her that rose all those years ago. He was offering it to her, if she would take it. And had she not asked for his love in their ultimatum?

Belle stared down at that ring until the sparkle of the stone hurt her eyes, thinking. She tried not to see how much discomfort he was in as he squirmed on his knee. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest as he waited for her decision.

Finally, she met his eyes once more. And she smiled.

"Yes," she whispered. The box trembled in his hands as he perked up, having caught that one fateful word. She nodded frantically, urging him up to his feet. "Yes, I shall marry you."

Once he was safely on his feet, he pried the ring from its velvet nest and gently slipped it on her finger. He allowed her to admire it for a moment and its shine rivaled the stars. Belle fell into his arms and happily shared with him a long, tender kiss until she could barely breathe right.

Afterwards, the two remained in the yard for a while and he held her, her head resting peacefully on his shoulder. _My fiance's shoulder, _she thought with a hint of delight.

"It'll be forever, dearie," he whispered into her ear as he stroked her back. She squeezed her arms tighter around him and inhaled his scent, something she hoped never to forget.

"Forever."

…..

It was while Belle was absently watching the crowd of dancing, twirling couples that she remembered the crucial detail that nagged her mind earlier in the evening. It jarred the crevices of her brain, blinding the focus she had so sincerely placed on the guests and the procession of the ball.

The dagger underneath her pillow.

Hidden from view, yes, but it stirred uncomfortable worries inside her. Why hadn't she checked on it before? Suppose a pair of lovers sought privacy, sneaking off upstairs? What if someone discovered it, read the infamous name engraved on the blade? What if…?

_No, that is ridiculous, _she thought for a moment, a silly attempt to calm her nerves. She hoped she did not look as anxious as she felt. The elation of her engagement should still be bubbling inside her, waiting to explode. Gods, she was still tracing her finger rhythmically over the diamond ring as if expecting it to vanish.

Forcing a thin smile, she entwined her arm more firmly around that of Rumpelstiltskin. She encouraged her eyes to watch the crowd. Still, that possibility bothered her, demanded attention even as Snow White weaved along with her charming prince.

Perhaps she should check on it, if only to be reassured. Turning her head from the crowd, she laid it on Rumpelstiltskin's shoulder, the waves of chestnut shielding her expression from view should anyone be watching.

"I'm going to head upstairs for a moment," she whispered into the shell of his ear.

Immediately, his brown eyes swiveled to her with obvious concern, but the message written in the depth of her eyes broke through. He knew she wouldn't be heading upstairs to reapply her makeup. Perplexity dominated his features in the glow of the candles, the ballroom fading into the background.

"Are you alright?" _Do you want me to come with you? _The unspoken message rang in her ears. He would if she willed it, the inevitable rumors of Storybrooke be damned. Red had already bombarded her about the proposal and unleashed the news to everyone in the ballroom. Her fingers tightened over the crook of his arm.

"I'll only be a moment," she insisted, setting a time limit in the process. _No need to worry. _Reluctantly, he dipped his head and released her from his grip, though she could feel his gaze burning into her back as she ascended the stairs. Most likely, he would allow her ten minutes or so before following.

The hollow silence of the upstairs hall, a drastic change from the lively, overzealous buzz of the partygoers, made Belle's ears ring violently. It was cooler up here as well, away from the collection of body heat. The steady click of her heels thundered as she made her way to the bedroom.

Everything appeared just as they'd left it; the few bits of clutter on the dresser safely in place, the black silk sheets smooth and unrumpled thanks to her habit of making the bed, the shades drawn down to block out the night. Quickly, she crossed to her side of the bed and slid her hand underneath her pillow, scrambling for the jagged edge of the dagger…

It wasn't there.

But how could it not be?

Pulse hammering, Belle carelessly tossed the pillow away to reveal an empty, cold underside, the vacant sheets staring up at her. No dagger. It was gone. _No need to panic, Belle. Just because the dagger that ultimately bears Rumpelstiltskin's entire power source is somehow not where it should be does not mean it is time to panic, _she reasoned hopelessly.

There must be a logical explanation. Of course there was. Everything had a logical explanation, if one searched hard enough. Had Red somehow found it while Belle's back was turned? No, Red surely would have brought it up. Had it perhaps fallen behind the bed? That was more likely.

Belle leaned over the bedframe to peer down into the thin, dark space below. It was too difficult to see anything. Blindly, she reached out and switched on the bedside lamp, the soft golden glow chasing away the inky shadows into their crevices. That was some improvement, but not by much. At this rate, she'd have to edge out the bed and hope no one downstairs got the wrong idea, least of all Rumpelstiltskin.

The moment Belle's palm gripped the bedframe, prepared to shift the bed, the shadows on the wall caught her fleeting attention. There was the surreal outline of her body, but the shadows surrounding it squirmed and blended in and out. Moving back and forth, while her figure remained still.

The back of her hair prickled with apprehension as she came to realize that someone was standing very close behind her. It sent a terrible, unwanted chill along the entire length of her spine and she simply sensed that the intruder was not her Rumpelstiltskin. Throat tightening, muscles stiffening beneath her golden gown, she watched the black shadows on the wall descend over her small shadow, coming to a stop.

_There is someone behind me. Standing very close behind me, someone who is not supposed to be in here…and the dagger is still missing…_

"Looking for this?" The next sensation Belle felt was the cold jagged edge of the dagger pressing against the papery-thin hollow of her throat, right above the spot where her heart pounded the hardest.

…..

_**Sorry for that cliffhanger. It's not a dream this time, but don't worry too much—I have plans for the next chapter. The story is not over yet! **_

_**On another note, I was actually listening to the song "Beauty and the Beast" while writing the Rumbelle dance. It certainly fit their moment well. And what did you all think of that little surprise? Yay? Nay? **_

_**Le gasp! It is the week of the mid-season finale! Any thoughts on what will happen, guys? I know I'm excited and ready for it. But for now….I must thank all those that have read and reviewed my story recently. You guys are always so awesome! Here's to LionshadeSC, Romance and Musicals, DragonRose4, Bluecanbegreen, Ruby Red-ink, Guest, lilylulurose, Heart of Diamond, discotimelord, Laura, and Anonymous Nerd Girl. **_


	36. Chapter 36

_**A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! Here is a long chapter for all of you to enjoy. **_

The jagged edge of the dagger pressed deeper into Belle's throat as she drew in a timid breath, nicking her skin and shedding a pearl of scarlet blood. It was a dark teardrop, sliding down against a canvas of white. Frozen in place, all Belle could do was watch the inky shadows on the wall.

_Keep calm, Belle. Think clear, rational thoughts. Think this through logically. Someone is behind you and the dagger is being held to your throat. Do not panic, do not struggle, do not scream…_

Belle remembered what happened when the Queen captured her on the road and she'd tried to summon Rumpelstiltskin. She'd barely uttered the first two syllables before the Queen's guards knocked her unconscious, piling her limp body into the carriage like extra luggage.

As a woman who genuinely learned from her mistakes, she knew she could not try it again. It would be futile. That dagger may very well slice her skin as smoothly as it would a pillow.

"Who…who are you?"

Despite her attempts to breathe calmly in and out, there was still a tremor of apprehension in her voice. Her nerves jumbled and she instinctively craned her neck away from the dagger, only to knock her skull into the man's chest.

She was trapped.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that right now," he replied, his breath tickling her ear.

It was odd; he sounded regretful as though performing this crude act against his will. Dawning realization swept an icy wave through her lungs, her scars burning all over again.

"You're here…because of Regina, aren't you?" The unnerving silence gave her the answer. That was it; Regina was making another move on the chessboard. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to listen to her. She's only using you to get to me, to him."

A gloved hand squeezed her shoulder, commanding her to stop talking. She fought against the urge to wince—she would not show weakness to one of Regina's followers.

"I know. You'd be surprised what someone would be willing to do for love," he said morosely. Belle gripped the bedframe for support. Surely, she must have heard wrong.

In her heart, she believed everyone had a true love somewhere in the world, but…was this Regina's love holding her hostage? Or was he doomed to love her unrequitedly, another poor soul suffering in her name?

"You're in love with the Queen?" Belle fidgeted in his grasp until the pressure of the dagger made her gasp in discomfort. Water pooled under her eyelids, but she blinked it away.

Ten minutes—that was approximately the length of time before Rumpelstiltskin became suspicious and would come upstairs to check on her. Maybe if she kept her attacker distracted, kept him talking…

"Please," she moaned. That gloved hand squeezed her shoulder and this time she could not deny wincing.

"I really don't want to hurt you," he admitted.

"Then release me," she exclaimed in too loud a voice.

Instantly, that gloved hand clamped down over her lips, reeling her head back against his chest. It tasted like old leather and dust and sweat. Belle struggled to cough, but he was holding her so tight…

He was listening for the sound of footfalls on the stairs, in case anyone heard Belle's cry. The hand on the clock ticked by a whole minute before the gloved barrier fell from her mouth. She sucked in air, that nasty taste lingering on her lips.

"Tell me: what does this dagger do?"

Belle's eyes dropped down and she imagined the black, elegant print of Rumpelstiltskin's name on the blade, binding his soul. No, that was too precious a piece of information. Something she could never divulge, for it would mean sacrificing his freedom and happiness.

Stubbornly, as she had learned from Emma, she remained silent.

"I beg you—do not make me hurt you," he murmured, readjusting his grip on the dagger's hilt. "Once again, what does this dagger do? What is its purpose?"

Once again, Belle was irrevocably mute, refusing to voice the knowledge circling her mind. She could feel his head bend forward; she stared unblinking at the shadows on the wall even as her muscles tensed.

"He is the Dark One, isn't he?" She bit her tongue to keep from gasping. "I've heard legends. There have been centuries of them in our land. A creature powerful beyond measure. And Rumpelstiltskin _is_ powerful, there's no denying that. However, every powerful being has their weakness, a source of their ultimate power. This dagger is his weakness, isn't it?"

The dagger's blade scorched Belle's skin, her pulse pounding against the metal. Clamminess rippled over her skin and all she could think of was Rumpelstiltskin somewhere beneath her feet, unaware his source of power had been transferred to another.

Oh, she needed to warn him! She needed to fight back, if only for his well-being. He did not deserve the torture Regina would unleash over him.

"It appears the Queen will have her happy ending, after all," her attacker mused softly.

Abruptly, Belle grabbed up the hand on her shoulder and sank her teeth into the glove. He hissed and wrenched away, the blade loosening from her throat. Arm snaking out, Belle snatched up the lamp on the bedside table and whipped it up behind her head. There was a clash and a cry of pain—she'd hit her target.

The dagger fell away from her throat, landing somewhere on the floorboards. A flash of blue light illuminated the room as the lamp shattered on the ground. Belle's eyes darted wildly about, searching for the dagger.

There!

She head-dived for it, her fingers wrapping around the hilt. The weight of her attacker's body collided into her side, sending her flying across the room just as she thrust the dagger down through the air.

The back of her head knocked against the bedside table, resulting in a sharp _crack!_ Crimson splashed behind her eyelids and the room swam in circles.

Blurrily, she saw him rip the dagger from his leg and stumble, his eyes gleaming like iridescent black diamonds in the moonlight, gazing down upon her.

The crimson darkened into black and consciousness slipped through her fingers.

…

Six minutes.

It had been six minutes since Belle left his side. Normally, he'd allow her a few more minutes before his curiosity reigned free. But he had the inkling that she had gone for the sole purpose of the dagger. It was the only thing of value upstairs, without him.

He tried to focus on the swaying couples crowding his living room, tried not to let that old paranoia overwhelm him. But as the Dark One, he'd convinced himself there was no such thing as paranoia.

What cause did Belle have to worry about the dagger, unless…what if…?

From the corner of his eye came a flash of brilliant blue light and he whipped his head toward the staircase. No one else seemed to notice it, as if happily oblivious inside a bubble. Blood thundering in his ears, he wandered to the staircase and craned his neck to peer into the darkness of the second landing.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and that old sixth sense told him something was dreadfully amiss.

Step by step, he ascended the stairs, ears strained and listening for a sound that was out of place, a sound that should not be there. Just as his foot lifted above the next step, there came a crash. Alarm burned through his veins and suddenly he was dashing up the stairs as fast as he could, not caring who noticed.

As his legs stumbled and carried him closer toward their bedroom, voices floated across to him.

"_You fool! You weren't meant to knock her unconscious!" _Regina. That spiteful witch. There was no possible way she'd gotten around the wards he placed around their house, especially for her. Unless…the mirror. _"Well, you'll just have to use magic." _

"Magic? But…he'll know…" Sidney. That oaf had been thrown away into the Queen's little Zoo of Death, last he'd heard.

It was a mistake he'd made tonight; not placing stronger wards beyond Regina. The magic of signaling dozens of people he detested, however, would have given him a fierce headache by the end of the night.

Gritting his teeth, he ignored the discomfort of his leg and picked up his pace, imagining all the ways in which he'd slowly torture Sidney Glass and make the spineless idiot beg at his feet for death. And he would all too kindly deny it.

The minute he charged into the bedroom, he noticed several things at once.

The first was the lamp that used to be on the bedside table, now in a mess of glass and frame on the floor. The second was Belle, his sweet fiancée, unconscious in a ball on the floor, the layers of gold pooling about her body like blood, chest barely rising.

And then there was the miserable genie-turned-magic-mirror, hovering in the center of the room with his nose bleeding and a terrible wound in his leg, staining his suit with blood. The suit—nowhere near as tasteful as his own—was disheveled. One of his black gloves was missing. And in his grip, pointed at Rumpelstiltskin's chest was a knife. No, not any knife, for he could deflect that.

The dagger.

_His _dagger, which Belle had sworn to protect.

Eyes narrowing murderously, he aimed for the genie's head with his cane, preparing to knock the useless thing right off his shoulders.

"Stop," Sidney shrieked, cowering away from the incoming blow. To his horror, the cane halted a mere foot from its target. Magic had returned and with it, the ties that bound him to the dagger. "Drop it."

Sidney motioned with the blade to the cane. Muscles rigid in protest, his fingers opened and released the cane. It clattered between them on the ground. He looked to Belle and frowned; he needed to get her away from Regina's pet.

Inside, his free will demanded him to run to her, scoop her up into the safety of his arms, carry her away. It was hopelessly smothered by the command given by Sidney, which he was victim to obey: _stop. _

"The pain she suffered in your hands will be multiplied tenfold for you," he threatened through his clenched teeth.

The dagger trembled in Sidney's grasp, revealing his fear. It reminded him of the night he'd stood before Zoso, the previous Dark One, rooted to the spot with fear though he was in control of the infamous being of power.

That was the man he used to be, a coward, and now the tables had turned. Life could be so cruel in pattern.

"Seems like you no longer have that choice," the little genie dared to counter. Rumpelstiltskin almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Another part of him yearned to silence him permanently.

"Oh…seems someone has finally grown a spine," he openly mocked. _The better for me to break it. _"No one can escape fate, dearie."

Sidney blinked, as if expecting to be turned into a toad. Lovely idea, but the dagger would not permit it.

"Not even you," Sidney replied. Once more, Rumpelstiltskin's eyes darted to Belle and he willed her to stir. Move, moan, anything to alert him that she was alright. His love.

"Indeed," he was only half-aware of muttering. Sidney backed away toward Belle and Rumpelstiltskin clenched his fists, unable to move. Damn this curse.

"I'm sorry about this," Sidney whispered as his foot stopped an inch from Belle's still body. In one swift movement, Sidney flicked his wrist. A thick menacing cloud of black smoke slithered over him and Belle, veiling their bodies.

"No," he growled as Sidney became submersed in the fog. He was taking her away. The connection to the dagger broke as Sidney vanished from view and he raced to Belle, but it was too late. He crashed into the bedside table where his beauty once lay.

Belle was gone, magically transported straight into Regina's waiting palm.

…

There was only one other time that Belle had endured this brutal sensation.

It was the tender, heady sensation of having banged your head against the wall until it bled, of your teeth throbbing with the waves of pain rocketing and receding along the nerves, of every limb flopping like Jell-O and refusing to obey. The last time had been when she was imprisoned by Regina, upon waking up in a dreary prison cell.

Eyelids fluttering apart, Belle tried to get a sense of her surroundings, but her head spun in a million directions. Her cheek pressed against something smooth and cold—she realized it was the floor. Slick marble, not the familiar floorboards of Rumpelstiltskin's bedroom. _Their bedroom,_ she corrected, tracing the delicate gem that still sparkled on her hand.

The last thing she remembered was the dagger digging into her throat…and the manner in which she struck her attacker with the lamp…the deep groan of agony…and being knocked into the bedside table.

That was it—whatever happened after consciousness failed her was blank. It was Regina, she knew that much. Who else could it be?

The grogginess subsided and she pulled herself upright. The fabric of her dress drifted across the floor, rustling the tiniest bit. Blinking, her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and the room came into focus.

It wasn't a cell, like she'd expected and feared. It was an office, painted in shades of black and white. No in-between gray, but then there never was a gray area for the Queen, was there?

Belle rushed to the window and slid her palms along the glass, but it would not budge. A sheet of frost iced the glass outside, though she could peer beyond it enough to recognize the town square. City Hall. Regina was keeping her locked inside as prisoner. _Oh, no. Never again. _

Heart racing violently, she hurried to the door and tugged on the doorknob. Locked. Belle pounded her fists on the door, begging for someone, anyone to hear her pleas and come.

"Please, let me out! You can't keep me locked in here! Don't do this," she cried out until her voice was raw, but there was no answer beyond the door. The Queen's decision had been made—there was no altering it.

Belle turned to find an alternative escape. Her eyes scanned the entire length of the room, her mind burned ferociously, but there was no way out. The Queen made certain of that.

But was she as thorough as Rumpelstiltskin? _Think like Emma. Think like Emma. What would Emma do? _

She opened each drawer of the desk and examined the contents. Nothing but old files, paperwork, and fountain pens. The top of the desk was bare except for a bowl of juicy red apples. Were they poisoned? A deadly threat hiding behind a sweet crimson peel?

She decided not to take that chance.

All that was left in the room was a fireplace and a full-sized mirror in the corner. The Queen valued her mirrors. It was ridiculous to think about climbing up the chimney. What kind of person could achieve that?

Something caught Belle's eye and she spun toward the mirror.

It was an ancient one; it reminded her of the one Rumpelstiltskin had kept in his castle. In the glass stared her reflection, though it wasn't as pure as when Red prepared her for the ball. A ghost of a bruise marked her cheek and there was a small tear in the side of her dress. Her soft dark hair was frazzled and hung limply over her shoulders.

The reflection quivered, shimmering as though by…_magic, _she realized with a chill. Curiosity won out and Belle pressed a hand to the glass.

The reflection faded and she backed away, even as it revealed a room that was not the Queen's office. Familiarity made her heart race and she nearly tumbled against the mirror. Was it…?

The library.

The enormous, grand library in Rumpelstiltskin's house.

Yes, there was the black couch in front of the fireplace and the countless shelves of books. Gripping the gilded frame of the mirror, Belle's heart swelled with hope.

She began to call out his name.

…

Belle was gone.

Frantically, his eyes roved over the spot where she lay only a few moments ago—the one his body now occupied—but she had vanished without a trace. Not even a stray chestnut hair clinging to the floor.

_No, _the fury brewed inside him, burning cold and deep as his fingers splayed across the floorboards. _Too long have I been without her, forced to live with my mistake. I shall not lose her again. _

And that was precisely when he felt it instead of heard it.

The stirring of something delicate across his mind; the skittering whisper of his name, uttered in her soft voice. Straining his ears to listen, he realized something his brain had already registered but failed to alert him—she was calling him.

Yes, he heard it now, rising distinct and clear. Belle was calling him.

Could she still be here somehow? Had the genie made a mistake, rusty in his disuse of magic? Or did he miraculously have a change of heart? No, that latter option was impossible.

_Rumpelstiltskin…Rumpelstiltskin…_

"Belle," his lips whispered as he pulled himself to his feet and followed the sound of her voice. It held him under a spell; Belle was his siren that would easily lure him anywhere in the world. He hoped she was leading him into her arms.

It was not coming from their bedroom, though it was coming from somewhere upstairs. Mesmerized, he followed it to the library, using the wall for support.

In the corner near the fireplace stood an ivory-framed mirror, though its glass was cold without the roar of the flames. When he spun on his wheel in the basement, occasionally he enjoyed watching Belle read in the comfort of her library.

The glass flashed as he approached it. Some small part of him already knew what he would find. The library was empty, otherwise.

Turning to fully face the mirror, his breath caught in his throat and his hand was already reaching out toward the glass. It wasn't his reflection staring back. There, embodied in the mirror, was Belle.

A golden glow seemed to surround her as inky blackness clouded the space around her body. It was the Queen's form of protection and magic—Regina would not allow him to depict Belle's location and his magic was nulled by the loss of the dagger.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she gasped in relief. Never was there a more lovely sound.

His fingers brushed the cool glass, but failed to stretch beyond it. Belle pressed her hand to the glass and the pads of her fingers revealed where she came in contact with the mirror.

"The Queen has taken me and the dagger," she said slowly, almost hesitantly. He winced at the reminder.

Belle's gentle face crumbled and he could sense that she was fighting to stay strong. His fingers rubbed over the reflection of her hair and he longed to stroke it.

"I know, my love. Her repulsive genie is the one who captured you. Do not be fooled by his emotions. He is not her true love," he explained carefully. His eyes flickered to the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. Time was surely of the essence.

"I'm so sorry. You asked me to protect the dagger, you trusted me with your will, but I…I…" Water welled up in Belle's eyes, her bottom lip trembling. It squeezed his heart worse than if the Queen ripped it out herself.

"Did she hurt you?"

If Regina so much as glared in Belle's direction, he'd track that witch down and strangle the daylights out of her until her eyeballs popped out of her skull. Belle sniffled and appeared to glance around at her surroundings. If only he could _see. _

"Not that I can tell. So far, I've been locked in a room. I have no idea what she's done with the dagger—"

"Forget the dagger," he growled, making her jump. He regretted it instantly.

Neither of them could forget the dagger. His free will hinged on its whereabouts and Regina would inevitably assume invincibility while holding it. At the crux of it all, it was still a knife and capable of flaying skin alive.

"Listen closely. You need to tell me exactly where you are. As much detail as possible, so that I can find you." Belle's eyes lit up brilliantly and she nearly stumbled into the glass.

"You can't see it," she realized his predicament. _Tell me, sweetheart, _he willed her. He pressed his forehead to the glass until Belle was the only thing in his vision.

"Please," he murmured, his breath fogging the glass. Belle's fingertips brushed over it, as though she could absorb his warmth. Quickly, the fog dissipated and she frowned.

"She has me locked away inside—" Inside what? Inside her house? No, that would be the first place he'd look and the Queen knew it.

Something broke the connection between them and Belle's image faded. His fist pounded against the frame of the mirror. Another second and her reflection had been replaced with that of Regina. Regina, who had the gall to laugh.

"Oh, this is priceless. If only I thought to make a bowl of popcorn," she taunted maliciously, her ruby lips pulled into a vicious smirk. "You two are almost as sickly sweet as Snow White and her dear prince."

His lip curled in a sneer and his hands gripped the edge of the mirror until it nearly cut his skin.

"Where is she?" There was a low warning in his voice.

This would be her only chance to cooperate. Not that it would prevent him from reacquainting her with his cane, but if he was forced to search for Belle, every passing second would mean a decrease in the Queen's chances of surviving his wrath.

But the Queen was always eager to dangle her hidden aces.

From inside her clothing she revealed the dagger, the elegant script of his name mocking him. She began using the blade to dig under her sharp fingernails.

"Seems you're not viable to make demands anymore, Rumpel," she dared to flaunt her victory in his face. The game was far from over yet. "Besides, we don't want to spoil the fun, do we? The show has only just begun."

He was going to kill her. Nice and slowly.

"I am warning you this once, dearie—" Regina feigned alarm, clutching a hand to her bosom.

"Oh, you're _warning _me? As opposed to turning me into a snail? Ooh, I am positively quivering in my corset." Another snide laugh.

Tighter his fingers clenched the edge of the mirror until he felt warmth seep along his palm. His teeth gritted painfully and he had the urge to smash his fist against the mirror. But that would risk losing any further connection he had with Belle.

"You haven't won yet, Your Majesty. I will find her, I will get her back, and then I _will_ rip that black heart out of your chest," he threatened. Regina swung the dagger back and forth; she wasn't bothered by his dark promises.

"We shall see," she hissed, those black irises glinting dangerously. "Enjoy the show."

And the Queen's reflection vanished, leaving him to glare only at himself.

…..

Something severed the connection between Belle and Rumpelstiltskin, for the next thing she knew, he was gone. His image disappeared before she could tell him her location, the glass returning to her battered reflection.

The Queen. It must have been her magic that interrupted their connection.

Belle slid her palms across the glass, praying that he would return to her. But her reflection continued to stare back. _Find me, _she silently pleaded with his image floating behind her eyelids.

Belle did not know how long she remained in front of the mirror with her eyes closed peacefully, clinging to the sound of Rumpelstiltskin's voice. But all at once, the _click-click-click _of heels dragged her back to reality.

The Queen was coming; Belle could sense the dark fury beyond the door. She rushed to the door and peered through the keyhole, but she could not see anything. Voices, however, reached her ears.

"But, Your Majesty, wouldn't it be too risky to move her now?" She recognized that voice. It was the man who'd taken her. Regina's genie, Rumpelstiltskin had said.

"It was risky enough bringing her here," she snapped. "The only reason I allowed those two lovebirds to communicate was to show him that I now have two precious possessions of his. I've been good about hiding her location, but we can't be sure. He will come unless I demand otherwise."

Belle pressed her ear up against the door even as the footsteps seemed to ascend the stairs and draw closer.

"You want him to come," the genie surmised. Belle's heart pounded in her chest as she anticipated the Queen's answer.

"His arrival will be inevitable, but that will soon be part of the fun. He has no choice. If he doesn't come for her, I'll kill her, anyway. And if he does…" The silence was thick, not even the sound of Belle's breath escaping her mouth. "Let's just say I'll have a surprise in store for those two. It'll be heart-wrenching."

The Queen's cackle sent an unforgiving shiver down Belle's back. The steps were close to the office now and Belle didn't want to wait to find out what plans the Queen hoped to put into motion.

_Think like Emma, _she reminded herself. Emma would face off against the Queen eye-to-eye, but Belle knew she was no match for the Queen's magic. The second option was to find a clever way to escape.

_There are no weapons in here; the Queen has cleared it out. A pen might work, but even a sword would not be a match against magic. Fighting against two magic-users would be futile. What else am I to do? Jump out the window? What if she's thinking of torturing me again with red-hot iron? Or…what if she's thinking of torturing Rumpelstiltskin?_

That was it—she needed out. Now. Jumping out a window was much more preferable to the sickening stench and searing of burning flesh.

As the steps stopped outside the door, Belle hurried to the window. Again, it would not budge under her fingers, but she let her instincts guide her. Slipping off one of her heels, she picked it up.

The rattle of a key in the lock made her quicken her pace and she smashed the heel into the window. It cracked and Belle banged her elbow against it as well, shattering it.

"Get her, you fool," the Queen's order clashed with the sharp collision of the door against the wall. Clearing the frame of glass, Belle gathered her golden skirts and squeezed through to stand on the windowsill outside.

It was quite a fall to the ground. Much as she wished to escape the Queen's wrath, she did not wish to die, especially since it would leave Rumpelstiltskin alone in the world. No, she had to survive.

She spotted a drainpipe a little further along the edge. _A-ha! I'll just use that to climb down to the ground—_

Before she could begin to move, hands tugged at her golden dress, startling her. Her heel slid along the windowsill and for a moment she teetered precariously on the edge, her arms flailing for balance.

The hands scrambled under her dress to try to grab her leg, but she twisted away. It was a deadly mistake. One of her legs stomped down through the open air and her body leaned over the courtyard at the entrance of City Hall.

At that instant, Belle knew without a doubt that she would fall.

Gravity pulled her over the edge. There was a definite tearing as the piece of dress her attacker was holding ripped away, releasing her. Almost in slow motion, Belle's feet left the windowsill.

And then she began her descent. _I love you, Rumpelstiltskin. _

The ground hurtled up at Belle and she shut her eyes, anticipating the brutal impact and the crimson that would undoubtedly splash behind her eyes. She waited, her body rushing through the air, but there was no pain. Her body simply…stopped.

Was this what it felt like to die? To have your body stop completely and float away in the form of a spirit destined for some other world? If she opened her eyes, would she have one of those mythical out-of-body experiences with her own lifeless body below, blood pooling out of her?

Belle eventually did open her eyes, but it was because she heard the worst sound in all the Enchanted Forest. Worse than the roar of Ogres or the scratch of Rumpelstiltskin's quill across the parchment of a deal for some.

It was Regina's laugh.

Would she ever be free of the Queen?

Ever so slowly, Belle opened her eyes and saw the ground a foot or so below her…but no body. She glanced about and understood what the Queen had done. Roots and vines spiraled around Belle's wrists and legs, holding her firmly in place.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The Queen smirked as she stood before Belle with her genie in tow. He was still holding the golden strip of fabric that had torn off her dress. Belle squirmed in the cradle of the vines, but it was no use.

"Knowing you…somewhere horrible," Belle answered coolly. She expected Regina to bristle, but instead the Queen's lips split into a smile and her white teeth glowed in the moonlight.

"Indeed."

…

_**I want to thank all those that have reviewed recently. You guys are absolutely wonderful. Once again, happy holidays to beverlie4055, thedoctorsgirl42, White Ivy, writindownsouth (Princess Bride?), White Belt Writer, Bluecanbegreen, Linzerj, discotimelord, Jennifer, Dakota Kent, juju0268, Romance and Musicals, rene10, lilylulurose, and the anonymous Guests. Thank you all so much! **_


	37. Chapter 37

_**A/N: First off, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews and support. It means quite a lot to me. I also hope everyone had a nice and safe holiday and have a good New Year as well. As for this upcoming chapter….boy, do I have drama saved up for you guys! It's a pretty good-sized chapter. Enjoy!**_

"Just a little farther now," the Queen remarked in the shell of her ear as they stumbled over the uneven terrain.

For precautionary measures, Belle's wrists had been securely bound behind her back, her mouth gagged with something annoyingly sticky, her eyes blindfolded with a thick black cloth from the Queen's office desk. Her senses had been severely limited—she could not see, taste, or feel anything with her hands. She felt like a prisoner heading toward execution.

All she could do was allow the genie to guide her and breathe softly through her nose. She tried to catch some distinct scent to paint an image of her location in her mind, but all she could smell was rain. Mud sucked her heels into the earth; several times she nearly lost her shoe.

Something hard kept prodding her in the back—Belle knew it was the gun Regina had supplied him with. Every now and then, the genie would guide her sharply to the left or the right, never in a straight path. Was he trying to confuse her further? Or was there something blocking their path, some obstacle they must avoid?

As he led her to the right again, Belle tugged away from his grasp and shifted her body to the left. For a brief second, her hands brushed against something chillingly cold, but smooth. A glacier? No, there weren't any such glaciers in Storybrooke. She wracked her mind for an answer.

Cold and smooth….It had felt like…like the sensation of the floor pressed to her cheek upon waking in the Mayor's office. Marble. That felt right. The answer whispered across Belle's mind, growing louder as she tested the weight of her theory. Marble. _Gravestones. That must be what he's doing—he's moving me around to avoid walking into the gravestones. She brought me to a cemetery. _

Left, right, left…Belle was certain of it now.

Rumpelstiltskin had explained it to her once. A cemetery was a single holy place where loved ones buried their dead and sometimes visited in memory of those they lost. In their world, there had been ceremonies and loved ones had buried their lost ones, but there was never a place dedicated to it.

Was Regina bringing her here to ultimately kill her? Bury her body among the countless others?

The groan of a door jumbled her nerves. Or was it a casket? _Oh, please, don't let it be a casket. Please…don't let her bury me alive. _The wretched scent of dust and decay invaded her nose and she longed to cough. It seeped down into her lungs and twisted her stomach. The door or whatever it was slammed shut as soon as she was guided inside and Belle's bare skin felt much cooler than it had a moment ago.

_Where am I? What are you doing with me, you evil witch? _

The raw sound of grinding sent her heart racing before the genie urged her forward. Oh dear, what was happening? Was it some kind of…machine? And the genie kept urging her closer….

"Careful," he quietly advised in her ear, his hand gripping her arms. Her foot slipped off the edge and shot down through the air before landing firmly on a platform directly below. A step. Yes, they were descending a flight of stairs. The Queen's stilettos hollowly clicked in Belle's mind as they followed her down…into a basement? Somewhere dark underneath the earth.

"Here we are," the Queen announced quite cheerfully, though Belle was still unable to see. The bonds on her wrists fell away, only to be replaced with icy metal. Shackles. A prison? Oh, no…was the Queen locking her away in a cell again? It was one of her greatest fears, facing that scorching rod of iron again. _Please…._

The cloth around her eyes loosened and the genie slipped it off. It was dim and gloomy; Belle was forced to blink multiple times before her eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the room in which they were standing. The Queen struck a match and ignited a torch on the wall, the flames flickering and casting shadows along the walls.

But the walls weren't really walls. Rows of cabinets lined them, stretching from the cracked floor to the overhanging ceiling. Some were carved with intricate designs and glowed a fearsome red. It reminded her of Christmas decorations, blinking rhythmically on and off. Except these lights did not bring joy to her heart. Only dread.

"How do you like my vault?" The Queen wandered to one section of the room and lovingly traced the designs of the drawers with her sharp nails. "This is where I keep them. My most prized and valuable trophies."

Trophies? Belle felt a chill seep into her bones as she watched the Queen open one of the drawers and remove from it an ivory black box. The genie swallowed uncertainly and backed away toward the entrance, his back hitting a wall of cabinets. Opening the lid, the Queen's ebony irises never faltered from those of her prisoner while she scooped up the contents of the box. Tauntingly, she held it out for Belle to see.

At first, Belle only caught a glimpse of it before the Queen held it under her nose and she thought it was an oddly-colored apple. She imagined the Queen forcing her to eat a poisoned apple, just like Snow White. That was before she took a good look out of curiosity and saw the object beating.

Apples did not beat.

But this…it was pulsing with life, its steady rhythm drumming in Belle's ears. _Duh-dum, duh-dum, duh-dum…_It matched the roar of blood in her veins. _No…that can't possibly be…what I think it is…_

The Queen smirked as Belle understood with haunting clarity. Frantically, her eyes traveled to the mountain of drawers, hundreds of drawers, each glowing now with the same fierce quality as the one in the Queen's palm. Hundreds of cabinets surrounding her, their contents undoubtedly the same as that ivory box.

Hearts.

"You've escaped from me again, my dear," Regina mused. From her soaked jacket, she removed the dagger and thrust the jagged end of the blade into the fire of the torch on the wall. Belle could not tear her gaze from it as the flames swallowed it. "When will you ever learn? Do I need to remind you what happened last time?"

Belle's eyes were glued to the blade that was burning hotter every passing second. That dagger was still a deadly knife, capable of doling out great suffering. Would Regina dare to use it against her? Without a doubt.

"Please…you don't need to do this," she pleaded with the Queen.

Rumpelstiltskin had told her once that evil was not born, but made. He had never been that dark being his whole life, but had adapted it for the sake of his son. Regina must have had her own reasons for descending a hopeless spiral into the powerful woman standing before her now. If that were true, if evil could be made, then could it somehow be vanquished and broken apart?

She should have known her pleas would fall on deaf ears. Hope could be so difficult to extinguish.

"Oh, but I do," the Queen disagreed. She brought the dagger away from the torch and glided toward Belle. She instinctively backed away, the chains rattling across the ground. It made the Queen snicker. "Don't worry, dear. I don't plan to brand you again. There's hardly any room left to scar except that pretty face."

Reaching out, Regina grasped Belle's chin, the points of her lacquered nails digging mercilessly into her skin. All Belle could see were those piercing endless black holes that served as Regina's eyes, the sultry irises devouring happiness for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"What I want this time is something I should have taken the first night you spent imprisoned in my castle. Your heart. And guess what?"

Regina directed Belle's chin to observe the genie dragging a mirror into the center of the room. Belle's reflection looked nearly as traumatized and ragged as the pitiful girl Regina had terrorized in this land. Something tickled the lobe of her ear and she realized it was the warmth of Regna's breath, humid as a dragon's.

"He'll be watching."

….

He didn't stray too far from the mirror in the library, just in case Belle managed to communicate with him again. However, he did venture to the upstairs bathroom to tend to his bleeding hand, ravaged by the force in which he had gripped the ivory frame of the mirror. It burned and throbbed endlessly. The sound of laughter and music dogged his heels; if his absence was noticed at the ball, no one was complaining.

In the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve a roll of gauze and the brown bottle of antiseptic. Fingers blooming, he studied the miserable cut that ran across his palm. Nothing seriously deep, but enough to sting.

Involuntarily, he hissed upon splashing some of the antiseptic on his cut to clean the wound. Hastily, he began to dress it, pulling the gauze tight into a knot between his teeth.

Somehow he knew Belle would have naturally been more apt at this sort of thing. Oh, well. He'd have to endure, as he had endured so many worse wounds during his time as the Dark One. Just because he could not die, didn't mean the wounds hurt any less. _I suppose I should be grateful I still have a hand, _he thought wryly.

Returning to the library, practically running to its door, he planted himself in front of the mirror and stared hard at his unchanging reflection, waiting. After a few moments, he began to pace anxiously before it, willing Belle's lithe body to substitute his own frantic one in the glass.

What if Regina were hurting her right this very instant? What if Belle was unable to reach a mirror, never to communicate with him again? The soreness in his hand held no candle to the dreadful ache burning deep inside his chest, a volcano threatening to erupt.

He needed to do something to find his love. Now was not the time for cowardice. _Think, _he encouraged his overworked brain as he perched on the edge of the black couch. _Regina would take her somewhere that she would be certain I could not find easily. Not her house, not her office…_

In the mirror, his reflection seemed to quiver and become distorted. Leaping up from his seat, he held his breath as he watched Belle's reflection override his own.

It was the same as before—it was frustratingly impossible to determine Belle's location due to Regina's layer of magic. That would be the fun in Regina's game. She wanted him to suffer with not knowing where Belle was, to struggle in his task of chasing her down.

"Belle, I'm coming for you. If she hurts you…" The dark promise did not need to be voiced in order to hang in the air.

That was when he took a good look at Belle. Past the tattered muddy stains of her once pure dress, past the disheveled state of her body. He noticed the thick, iron chains with shackles clasped around Belle's wrists. He pressed his good hand to the glass, as though he could channel his magic right then and there to free her.

"What has she done to you? Belle, _where are you?" _

It was raining out; he knew that for a fact. Droplets of rain slid down along the glass of the library windows, little teardrops being shed in the wake of Belle's disappearance. The brown stains on the bottom of her dress suggested she had been outside recently, sloshing through the mud. Was Regina moving her around Storybrooke?

Was she perhaps somewhere in the woods? A needle in a haystack.

"Please," Belle murmured, wrestling with the formidable chains. They raked across the ground, grinding and rattling until he cringed. He could tell she was too much of a distance away to reach the mirror. "Regina, she—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" That mocking voice, bittersweet as dark chocolate, interrupted Belle.

From somewhere beside the mirror, Regina proudly strode into view, though he could only see the back of her raven head while she flitted toward Belle. Those cornflower blue eyes he adored widened in unease and distrust. Belle was anticipating something truly horrible, something that shook her nerves to the core, he realized.

"What did I tell you? No spoiling the fun. Every time you try, your punishment will worsen." Regina clucked her tongue and wagged a finger in Belle's face. Even without seeing her face, he could hear the glee dripping from every syllable she spoke. Regina was enjoying this.

Over her black-suited shoulder, he caught a glimpse of defiance in Belle's eyes right before she lurched her head forward and sunk her teeth into Regina's hand. _That's my girl, _he silently cheered her on while fearing for her well-being at the same time. Always the brave one, Belle would not go down without a fight.

Belle's jaws stayed locked as Regina howled in pain, her skin scraping along Belle's teeth. She forcibly wrenched her hand away and even he could see the broken skin on her hand. The teeth marks were quite prominent. While Belle spat out the taste of the Queen from her tongue, Regina was a whirlwind of fury.

"Why, you inconsiderate—" Regina raised her gnawed hand to strike Belle and he wished he could jump right through this mirror as Jefferson would pass through one into Wonderland.

"Regina," he barked, desperately trying to catch her attention. He was the bigger threat, was he not? Her hand halted in the air, a mere foot from Belle's jaw. But Belle never flinched or cowered. He knew she would have stared Regina in the face until that blow came. "If you lay a hand on her—"

She whirled in the direction of the mirror, sneering.

"You'll do what, Rumpel? Increase my rent? Perhaps the money will pay for her casket." The ridicule sent his blood boiling through his veins, his nerves coiling in absolute loathing. This was all a game to her; a simple game of chess. His lips curled back over his teeth, the clenching of his jaws revealing his rage.

"I will see to it you no longer have that hand, among other things," he hissed, dipping his head deliberately toward her chest.

Behind her, his focus was drawn to Belle with the motion of movement. Ever so slowly so as to hopefully avoid rattling the chains, Belle placed a trembling hand to her own chest, though the chains restricted it coming in contact. Her eyes pleaded, but Regina was too focused on Rumpelstiltskin's threat to pay attention to her prisoner.

"Oh, yes. You mentioned something about…ripping my black heart from my chest?" His gaze slid slightly to Belle, who repeatedly brought her hand away from her chest, fingers curled into hooks. His forehead sported anxious lines in his concentration. _What are you trying to tell me, Belle? _Did she encourage him in ripping the Queen's heart out?

Regina smirked brilliantly, reveling in the aces she apparently held firmly in her deck of cards.

"Funny you should mention ripping out hearts. You taught me well."

And suddenly, he knew _exactly _what Belle had been trying to convey silently to him. He practically envisioned a thought bubble above Regina's head before she spun violently on her heel and plunged her hand into Belle's chest.

"_No," _he and Belle shrieked together.

The act of ripping out a person's heart could be quite painless, unless discomfort and agony were willed by the person doing the ripping. And so Belle tossed her head back and screamed in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks and shining in the otherwise inky environment of the mirror. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as Regina roughly scrambled for her beating heart. The chains scraped, rattled, grinded against the floor until it became the tune of her screaming.

And the screams…oh, the screams were blood-curdling. They haunted his ears until he could no longer take it.

At the moment that Regina wrested Belle's heart into her palm, he wrenched his arm back and drove his fist into glass, shattering Regina's face. Her wicked laughter followed him as he retrieved his cane and proceeded to slam it into the mirror. The glass transformed into a spider-web pattern, the cane crashing into it again and again.

Of all the things Regina could strip from Belle, it was one of the things she valued most.

"Don't worry, Rumpel. I won't kill her…yet," Regina's smug voice taunted maliciously through the dangling shards of glass, the black of her apparel and red of her curved lips scattered among the fragments. All he could see of Belle was the gold of her dress. _Shut up, _he roared inside his head, his knuckles bone white as his fingers curled around the cane. "I can't promise she won't suffer, though. For every second it takes you to find us, she'll be subjected to endless agony. All I have to do is _squeeze_…"

And then the screams rose again with a vengeance. It was impossible to depict Belle's tortured face, but he was certain it matched his own. He felt the tremendous ache in his chest, as if it were his own heart that Regina coveted.

Dropping the cane, he covered his ears with his hands and sealed his eyes shut, hoping to block out the screams. He pictured Belle smiling and happy as she swirled across the dance floor in his arms, her ready agreement to be his wife, the way her rose petal lips felt against his in the sweetest of kisses…

The child-like wonder on her gentle face as they lounged in each other's embrace, swimming under the waterfall; the serenity that emanated about her when she avidly read a book; the way her body felt the night they made love beside the cabin's fireplace….

It was no use.

Belle's agonized screams, raw and impossibly high-pitched, broke through the barrier of his hands and poisoned his mind, thrusting an icy dagger into his heart. Teeth gritting, he abruptly kicked the mirror until it teetered unsteadily and collapsed against the wall. The broken glass thundered down into a glittering pool on the floor.

The screams stopped, though the memory of them would not leave his ears. Hearing slowly returned, the silence of the library deafening. And then the footsteps started on the stairs.

"Are you sure you're not tuning in to incredibly loud rock music? Guys tend to scream their lyrics," Emma's voice filtered in from the hallway. There were more than two sets of footsteps pounding in synch with hers.

"I'm positive. It came from up here, I know it," Red insisted.

The library door burst open, but all Rumpelstiltskin cared to do was control his heavy breathing and stare dismally at the ruined remains of the mirror. Any connection with Belle was lost. The footsteps stopped within a foot of him and he knew they were studying the broken mirror and his shaken face.

"Let me guess: bad hair day?" Emma quipped boldly, earning a scolding shush from Snow White. His fists curled by his sides, no trace of humor shadowing his face as he finally acknowledged the intruders. In a group they huddled—Emma, Red, Snow, Charming, and Jefferson.

He dared not meet the hatter's seeking eyes; it only reminded him that Belle valued their friendship. If he was not careful, Jefferson would recklessly follow in his footsteps and attack Regina, even if it meant the possibility of death. Not that he treasured the hatter's company, but Belle would be heartbroken, if she survived tonight.

This was the second time in his life that he questioned Belle's mortality.

"Belle…is gone," he begrudgingly admitted, averting his gaze to the delicate shards on the floor. Hearing the truth spoken aloud only twisted the knife deeper. It was silent a tense moment, everyone absorbing the information and struggling to process its meaning.

And then Jefferson charged forward.

"What do you mean _she's gone? _Gone where?" Rumpelstiltskin could not answer with certainty, so he chose silence. Jefferson gave a dry laugh. "Here I thought you liked keeping your enemies close and your possessions closer," he spat. The eggshells beneath their feet cracked—Rumpelstiltskin came to life long enough to shove Jefferson back against the wall and corner him.

"She is not a _possession. _She is my _fiancée," _he roared, prepared to take his anger out on the hatter. Something flashed in front of his vision and suddenly Emma was blocking his path, holding a hand up to stop him from coming closer. He glared down at her hand and the way she shielded Jefferson's body.

"What happened to her?"

She brought his mind back to the matter at hand. Red wrapped her arms around her body and hung her head. Snow and Charming wore matching expressions of sadness and sympathy as they waited upon Rumpelstiltskin's words. Raggedly, he sighed.

"Regina is keeping her imprisoned somewhere. Before you ask, I don't know where. But I do know she…ripped out her heart," he explained reluctantly. Snow gave a small gasp and pressed a hand to her lips in horror. Jefferson paled, his eyes drooping with disappointment.

"Then, she's dead," he muttered. A grim gleam settled on Rumpelstiltskin. "You know the Queen will kill her. She never lets anyone get away." The weight of that knowledge had burdened his mind ever since watching that grisly act of torture being executed on Belle. But he knew Regina; he knew how she enjoyed playing her games.

"No. She will not kill her yet. Belle is bait, to lure me out," he responded flatly, his shoe nudging a few of the glass shards. They crunched under his soles. Lifting his head, he deliberately met Red's eyes. If anyone could prove useful to sniffing out Belle, it was the wolf. "I need your help to find Belle. Please."

If Red was shocked by the pleading note in Rumpelstiltskin's voice, her face did not betray it. Decidedly, she nodded.

"As long as you have something that will allow me to track a scent, I should be able to sniff her out. Oh, but the ball was just getting so good, too," she protested. He led them out of the library, with Jefferson keeping stride with him.

"Just so you know," Jefferson said under his breath so only Rumpelstiltskin would be privy to his words. "If we find Belle, I plan to behead Regina. The only reason I'm telling you is because I know you won't hold it against me."

Rumpelstiltskin humored the hatter's dark promise of revenge. _Not if I behead her first. _

…..

Belle had always thought that the worst possible pain in all her life was the burning of that iron rod scorching the skin of her arms and back during her imprisonment in the Queen's dungeon. But she knew now that she had been naïve and dreadfully wrong in the matters of pain.

This pain…it was torture in every right. Even though her heart was now separate from her chest, she could feel the Queen's fingers digging into the meaty organ, the blood pumping and throbbing around her rose-red nails. Every inch of Belle's body was on fire, burning with torment as the Queen squeezed, squeezed, _squeezed…_

Chest tightening like piano wire, Belle could hardly draw in a breath. Arms flailing by her sides, legs buckling, the room spinning in a blur…it was enough to make her experience black spots in front of her eyes.

Miraculously, the Queen relented on squeezing Belle's heart as she would an anger-management toy. Belle collapsed in a shaking heap on the floor, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. Her throat was sore from screaming and her chest felt ready to explode.

But at least the pain was beginning to subside…

"Don't look so relieved, my dear. You can't expect me to squeeze it until you die. That was simply the first round." Belle clenched her eyes shut and instinctively knew what was coming. It was the Queen's method of torture—to lull her into a false security by relenting only to begin anew. "Time for round two," she purred.

And she squeezed again.

…..

"The genie was the one who captured her," Rumpelstiltskin explained as he led the group to the bedroom he shared with Belle. Noticing the confused expressions, especially on Emma's hard-edged face, he realized he needed to clarify. "Sidney Glass."

"Sidney Glass, in the bedroom, with the lamp." Jefferson quipped, earning a black glare from Rumpelstiltskin. He shrugged loosely. "This world is full of temptations. Someone has to remain a clear head while you're plotting Regina's demise." He sneered at Jefferson in disgust. _You be optimistic; I'll be realistic. _

"Sidney…you mean the Queen's mirror," Snow exclaimed with understanding. Everyone turned their heads in her direction. Emma stared oddly at her as if her mother had adopted a foreign language. "Once I caught Regina talking to her mirror and it talked back…."

Emma turned toward the mirror in their bedroom, as if expecting Sidney's face to pop up in the glass.

"You mean the whole 'mirror, mirror, on the wall' thing?" Emma offered her mother a skeptical look. Snow nodded lightly.

"Right, except I've never heard the Queen use those words. She was asking the mirror if she looked good in her new gown," Snow said, biting down on her lip to quell her amusement. _And I'll bet that lovesick genie told her she was the fairest of them all. Even if her dress was big enough for a circus tent, _Rumpelstiltskin thought bitterly. He bent to retrieve the discarded black glove on the floor.

"This belongs to him. I believe Belle bit his hand," he said, passing the glove over to Red. He chuckled deeply, recalling the way Belle bit the Queen's hand as well. "She tends to do that."

"I'm liking her more and more every inconvenient situation," Emma commented. If only she had witnessed Belle biting the Queen—he had the strangest feeling that their savior would have cheered, too.

"Then you must love me," Jefferson dared to give his input, dipping his head close to Emma's head. Both Charming and Snow offered him warning looks while Emma swatted him away with her hand. Rumpelstiltskin's patience had nearly reached its end. _I don't have time for this unnecessary drama. _

"Belle's life hangs in the balance. Now, _sniff," _he demanded Red, pointing sharply to the glove. Only problem was that Red never liked being told what to do, not even when it came to her Granny. She pursed her lips and purposely hesitated in holding the glove to her nose.

"I am not some hound dog that you can control and—" All of a sudden, her muscles stiffened and her head jerked up into the air. Her nose twitched in the manner of a dog. "I think I've got a scent." She sniffed the black glove for good measure and nodded in affirmation.

A terrible stone seemed to lift from his chest, allowing him to breathe a little more easily. This was it—they would be able to track Belle down and save her from the Queen's wrath.

"Then, let's save her," Charming boldly announced, his hand quivering for a sword. Snow inclined her head in agreement, but Emma shook her head negatively.

"No. You have to stay here," she argued. Her parents exchanged looks of disbelief and opened their mouths to protest, but something in Emma's eyes gave them pause. "You have to be here for Henry, in case Regina tries something else."

Rumpelstiltskin respected the fact that Emma considered Henry's protection and well-being above her own. Now that Regina held the dagger in her possession and controlled his power, that sense of invincibility could drive her to take Henry back as well. Maybe some of Emma's reasoning was also due to Snow's safety—being one of Regina's biggest threats meant there was a chance she would turn her power on Snow.

Likewise, he could tell Snow wanted nothing more than to protect her daughter, but her resolve diminished at the mention of Henry.

"We'll protect Henry," she promised, pulling Emma into a warm embrace. She stroked Emma's blonde hair and sent a piercing glare to Jefferson over her shoulder. "Be careful, Emma," she whispered in her daughter's ear. Rumpelstiltskin was sure Snow wasn't simply talking about Regina.

Emma stepped back to join their group and three pairs of eyes settled on Red. The young wolf, still gripping the glove, smiled.

"Follow me."

…..

It was one of those times that he regretted relying on appearances and neglecting to invest in a sensible pair of shoes.

Red tracked Sidney with her sensitive nose twitching like a rabbit's, leading them from the puddle-covered streets and along the woods. The soles of his shoes sank into the mud as did the end of his cane. It was a miracle the women did not lose their heels, though Emma was grumbling quite a bit under her breath. Halfway through their journey, Red abandoned her heels and went barefoot altogether.

"Are you sure your nose is following the right scent? Because at the moment, we are heading into a cemetery," Jefferson pointed out as he trudged through the mud. Red never paid him any mind as they passed through the entrance of the cemetery. "You know, the place you people store dead bodies in this world?"

Huffing, Red spun on him, making him halt in his tracks.

"Are you the werewolf with the heightened sense of smell or am I?" It was meant as a rhetorical question, but Jefferson often failed to control his tongue.

"Depends. Which one of us pops a tail?" Fortunately for him, tonight was not a full moon or Red would demonstrate the way her tail "popped." Instead of biting his head off—literally—Red glared spitefully at him and smoothed down her soaked ruby dress. No fur here. "Joke," Jefferson waved it off.

"Now is not the time for quips," Emma snapped, shoving him forward toward a gravestone. Red lifted her face to the sky, sprinkles of rain splashing her skin. Eyes closing, she turned her head this way and that.

"It's…it's…I've lost the scent," Red solemnly admitted, shoulders slumping in despair. That was not the answer Rumpelstiltskin was expecting. Charging over to Red, he snatched the glove from her hand and thrust it under her nose. His other hand, still holding his cane, came up and held her head in place even as she tried to twist away.

"Well then, dearie…I suggest you _find it again," _he growled in her ear, ignoring her cries as the glove blocked her nostrils time and again. Belle was somewhere out there, no doubt facing unimaginable torture at the hands of Regina and he'd be damned if he was about to give up hope on her now due to a wolf's failure in tracking.

Rough hands tugged on his shoulders, prying him away from Red. Whirling, he caught himself from lashing out upon recognizing Emma's face. She used his hesitance to stand between him and Red, who was doubled over and coughing.

"She did everything she could. Be grateful she led us this far," Emma thundered, shielding Red's body. The Sheriff's bravery may have amused him once, but it did not intimidate him in the least tonight. He found himself swooping inches from her face.

"I will be grateful after Belle is returned to me and Regina's head hangs above my fireplace," he retorted. The intrusive _hem-hem _of a cleared throat guided their attention to Jefferson. What was he so smug about? Did he plan to brag about his marble fireplace inside his manor?

"I believe I know where we are," he hinted mysteriously, folding his hands behind his back. While Red sucked in slow breaths of fresh air, Emma and Rumpelstiltskin merely stared at the hatter in utmost confusion. _I believe…Jefferson's madness is showing again. _

"Congratulations," he sarcastically appraised. He was seconds away from giving him a false round of applause. "You've just realized we are standing in a cemetery with no sense of direction?" He narrowed his eyes at Jefferson's foolishness. Time was precious—the least the hatter could do was provide something useful or else keep those lips shut.

"How intelligent of me," Jefferson shot back, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I'm not so much concerned with the fact that we're standing in a cemetery in the middle of the night. It's what's _inside_ the cemetery that counts."

The chirping of crickets could be heard distinctly as the three of them raised their heads to gaze expectantly at Jefferson. Did he perhaps drink too much punch at the ball? The man was speaking nonsense. Finally, Emma dared to play the devil's advocate.

"You mean….bodies?" Jefferson raked a hand through his damp hair and moaned in his frustration. He waved his hands toward the other end of the cemetery.

"Yes, that is my master plan. To build us an army of zombies to attack Regina and rip her limb from limb," he spouted. "No, I am talking about the Queen's vault," he exclaimed.

Rumpelstiltskin felt the truth weigh heavily on his shoulders the moment Jefferson said it—that was where Belle and Regina would be. The problem was that he had never visited Regina's vault in Storybrooke, though she supposedly brought flowers to her father every Wednesday.

"What exactly do you hope to find in Regina's dead father's vault?" Emma scrunched her nose in displeasure as Jefferson started off into the heart of the cemetery. He smirked at their savior over his shoulder.

"The dead never crossed over to Storybrooke," he pointed out. They trudged along in silence as he allowed that to sink in. "The vault is a cover for Regina's chamber of hearts. The hearts that she ripped out and stored for future purpose." Emma kicked up some of the dirt off the ground and scowled.

"You're starting to sound like Graham. Why can't you all just get an EKG?" Jefferson ignored her protests as he dodged around gravestones and plots. At least he was a gentleman enough to avoid walking over graves.

"Naturally, that is where Regina would be keeping Belle. Probably has her heart all tucked away in a cozy little box, just like Graham's—"

"Enough," Rumpelstiltskin intercepted sharply. One more syllable about Belle's heart and he might resort to drastic measures to ease his boiling fury. Jefferson pouted, but did not press the issue. If he did, they might have been one person short by the time they found the vault.

"There it is," Jefferson motioned his hand to a vault looming into view from the darkness. The door was ajar, the casket inside pushed to one end of the vault to reveal a hidden staircase. The name _Mills _stared back at them from where the casket once rested.

There was no need for the confirmation, though. The tell-tale stream of screams echoed from somewhere below the vault, verifying that Belle was there, dying.

"Ruby," Emma gasped, spinning toward the young wolf and latching onto her arms. "Get back to Mary Margaret. Tell them where we are…Just in case."

In case there were no survivors among them, Rumpelstiltskin interpreted. Red looked ready to argue, but a slight squeeze in pressure on her arms convinced her to nod her head. With a small worried frown, she disappeared among the gravestones, leaving the three of them to face the vault and the inevitable battle ahead.

"Ladies first," Jefferson offered with a tense bow despite the strain in his muscles. Another volley of screams arose and Rumpelstiltskin took it upon himself to edge the vault's door wide open and rush past. "Or not."

Taking the steps two at a time, he was pulled down into the musty dimness of the vault by the raw symphony of cries, growing weaker by the turn. There were only so many times you could squeeze a heart before it became too much for the recipient to bear. In this world, it was called a heart attack.

The cracked gray walls, interrupted only by a brick archway leading into Regina's heart room, seemed to suffocate him as he emerged into the underground circular chamber. The hurried steps of Jefferson and Emma licked at his heels, slapping against the spiral-patterned marble floor. Rows of boxes lined the walls, glowing with the contents of hearts. A mirror stood a few feet away, angled toward Belle.

And Belle…

Oh, the poor state she was in. Huddled on the floor, gasping for breaths, her eyes rolling wildly in their sockets without focusing on anything too long. Nails scraping across the floor, her empty chest heaving while Regina loomed over her body and literally held her life in the palm of her hand.

"Oh, look who finally decided to join the party," Regina boasted, holding her free hand to her chest in mockery. Savoring the fresh heartbeats of her own black heart, no doubt. "Where are my manners? My guests deserve a warm welcome."

A resounding click came from behind them, though Rumpelstiltskin did not shift his head to acknowledge it. There was only one person who would willingly hold a gun to their heads tonight. Sidney. If there was any surprise written on the faces of Jefferson and Emma, the Queen swallowed it gloriously.

"You thought I would be unprepared?" Regina's heels tapped across the spiraled floor, her gaze straying to the genie beyond their shoulders. He wrestled the cane from Rumpelstiltskin's grasp, made easier by a simple request from Regina to let it go. Emma stared accusingly at him for obeying as Sidney drove the cane into Jefferson's back. "I've given him permission to shoot if anyone of you takes a step forward. Wouldn't want to be buried in an unmarked grave, would we?"

Glee and victory oozed off Regina in thick, choking waves. Behind them, Sidney thrust the end of the cane into their backs if only to remind them of the tight spot they'd been forced to back into.

"Go to hell," Emma hissed. It reminded Rumpelstiltskin how much he admired their savior's bold, blunt way with words. Tonight, he was grateful for it. _Don't worry, Emma. I intend to send her there in a rowboat. _

"What is with this family and hearts?" Jefferson eyed the rows of hearts skeptically. All Rumpelstiltskin could focus on was the one pulsing heart in Regina's palm, with Belle barely alert in her agony. His fingers longed to rip Regina's heart out and stomp his foot on it until it burst.

"You have one chance to release her," he warned, pointing to Belle. His lips barely moved in his anger; if his eyes could shoot daggers, Regina would be pinned to the wall. It didn't help that Regina's possession of the dagger was making it difficult for any threat to shake her.

She merely tightened her grip on the heart, bringing about a moan from Belle.

"Or what, Rumpel? You'll sic your precious savior on me? You certainly won't amount to much. Not when I have this." Slipping a hand inside her clothing, she drew out the dagger. The jagged edges glinted in the flicker of the torch's flame. Power emanated from the blade, rooting his feet in place. Waiting for her command.

"You expect to win all because of a dagger and an idiot waving a gun?" Jefferson scoffed at the Queen, branding her victory utterly ridiculous. Emma didn't seem to disagree, even as the gun nudged her blonde head.

But a spark had ignited in the depths of Regina's dark eyes, a brilliant stroke of realization encouraging the mockery. Her lips made a small 'O' as she rotated the dagger.

"Oh, I see. You never told them about my little ace, did you? What's the matter, Rumpel? Afraid they'll use it against you?"

He could feel the demanding gazes of Emma and Jefferson burning into his skin. Stubbornly, he kept his eyes locked on Regina, her voice bouncing inside his mind. In truth, that was one of his fears—that if he had told Snow White and Charming about the dagger, they would not hesitate to subdue him once and for all. Control the Dark One, rip away his freedom, separate him from Belle.

"Yes," Regina cooed. "There is but one way to control the Dark One. This dagger is the source of that incredible power and as long as I am holding it, he is nothing but a servant. Ironic, isn't it? The most powerful man in all the realms is not so powerful anymore."

He expected Emma to unleash a string of harsh words in his direction, perhaps throw in a few expletives due to this turning of the tides. Instead, she hurled her irritation at Sidney.

"How can you just stand by and watch her do this? Coward," she fired away.

Even though it wasn't directed at him, he still winced at that foul word. It stung just as much as the first few times he'd been labeled with it after running from the Ogre War. Sliding his gaze to Belle, he wanted so much to protect her. But how could he when the privilege of his freedom was stripped away?

"Love, dearie," he muttered to Emma. Jefferson grimaced beside him.

"Unfortunately, it's usually the excuse for everything in our world—good or bad," the hatter added. He sent Rumpelstiltskin a distrustful glance. "If I had a coin for every time something was done out of love…"

"Love is weakness," Regina harped, nudging her heel against Belle's side. Slowly, Belle's eyelids fluttered apart once more and she groaned. Rumpelstiltskin's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Belle strive to raise her body from the floor, using the wall for leverage.

"Rum…pel?" She whispered softly, seeking him out. She stumbled forward, but the chains prevented her progress, keeping her a good distance away. Eyeing the shackles in distraught, he could read the plea in her pale face: to take her away from this wretched place to safety.

"Belle, I'm here for you," he assured, wanting so much to cross the room and scoop her into his arms. If he did, who was to say the pathetic genie wouldn't have the gall to pull the trigger?

Magic was different in this world and, while the power of the dagger still held him entranced under Regina's control, he did not know whether he would be allowed to die by a bullet or would merely suffer by bleeding out.

"You want her heart so badly? Here, _catch,"_ Regina said and tossed the heart into the open.

Forgetting the threat of the gun, he lurched forward into the center of the room and deftly caught Belle's heart in the cradle of his hands. Belle breathed a sigh of relief, but he sensed that Regina's macabre game was far from over. For one thing, there was no sound of gunfire or a bullet anywhere in his body—there must have been a reason Regina signaled Sidney to hold off his attack. Emma and Jefferson would not have been as lucky.

Those distasteful red lips would not be lifting with satisfaction, would they? Regina's nails skated across the elegant engraving of his name on the blade of the dagger, taunting him with the power channeling through her body.

"Show me you know what to do with it…_dearie,"_ she lilted menacingly.

He felt every nerve in his body freeze over and ultimately knew that he had done exactly what Regina wanted him to do upon catching Belle's heart in his hand. It was as safe in his possession as it had been in Regina's. He anticipated the deadly command dancing on her tongue.

"My wish is your command. And my command is simply this: take her heart and crush it. Squeeze it until there is nothing left but dust."

…

_**Dun, dun, dun! Sorry to leave you on such a horrible cliffhanger, everyone! I was almost finished writing this chapter before Christmas, but I figured that cliffhanger would have bothered you all throughout the holiday. **_

_**For now, I would like to once more thank all those that have reviewed and taken the time to read my story. You guys are awesome. A big thank-you goes out to SweetyK, Grace5231973, Bluecanbegreen, Drac1026, JulialovesLovato, Lupa Eira, discotimelord, thedoctorsgirl42, cheesyteal'c, LionshadeSC, SwanQueen4055, rene10, White Belt Writer, and Romance and Musicals. **_

_**Thank you all so much and have a happy New Year, now! **_


	38. Chapter 38

_**A/N: Sorry for that terrible cliffhanger, everyone. But, good news: this chapter will certainly make amends in that aspect. I hope you all enjoy it. **_

_Crush it, squeeze it, destroy it…_

The command spiraled endlessly through his brain, taunting him with various forms while retaining the same message. _Kill her. _The crux of the matter, the desired result as requested by Regina. It burned along his veins, all the way to his fingers cradling Belle's throbbing heart.

Every second, it became harder to ignore. It was a fierce uphill battle with the odds stacked against him.

His teeth ground together until they ached, his chest heaved with heavy breaths, his legs were struggling to move as though trudging through water. The messages to his brain were torn between obeying the Queen's command and instructing his fingers _not to squeeze that heart_. The command was a black disease infiltrating his system and there were not enough white blood cells to prevent it.

Flocking around Belle, the Queen waited for her wish to be heeded. She knew that resistance was futile, the dagger glinting sharply between her hooked digits.

Despite all his efforts, he took a step forward. _Someone stop me, _he silently pleaded as he was drawn to Belle like a moth to an iridescent flame.

"What do you think you're doing? You're not going to kill her," Jefferson exclaimed, his voice echoing around the circular chamber. He had the audacity to stride across the marbled floor in an attempt to seize Belle's heart from his grasp. And he would have gladly released it to Jefferson if it meant Belle would live.

But the sudden ear-shattering explosion of gunshot pierced his eardrums, a split second before Jefferson's body crumpled to the hard, cold floor.

Stalling for a second, he glanced over his shoulder at the fallen hatter. His limbs convulsed and blood pumped from a wound in his lower chest. Belle covered her mouth with a hand to stifle her rising scream while Emma's knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, scurrying to Jefferson's side. There was no second gunshot, but that was because Sidney was transfixed in the corner with the gun quivering in his gloved hand, coming to terms with the gruesome fact that he'd shot another human being.

And Regina smiled.

"Jefferson," Emma gasped, lifting his head into her lap. His head lolled until his jaw brushed her stomach. His eyes rolled wildly and his lips moved silently, trying to speak. Emma glared with unforgiving hatred at the Queen. "Regina, you have to stop this! Now!"

But Regina clasped her hands together, the dagger embraced between them, and laughed deeply.

"Stop? Why should I? I'm winning," she declared piously. Her eyes flickered to Rumpelstiltskin, two shining orbs of coal. "What are you waiting for? Kill her!"

And he took another careful step forward. His feet betrayed him, bringing him closer to Belle when what he really wanted to do was stay as far away from her as possible. The closer he came, the more of a threat he was to her. Fingers wriggling over her heart, they tried to decide whether to dig in or not.

"Gold, don't do it! You can't kill her! She's your true love, isn't she?" Emma desperately reasoned, but his brain seemed incapable of processing her words. All he could hear was the caramel dripping of Regina's request, as though skipping on a track. _Crush it, squeeze it, kill her. _

"Haven't you been listening, Sheriff? Love is weakness," Regina drawled leisurely. "It doesn't matter if he loves her or not. He is the Dark One and he must do as I say. That is his curse, his weakness. Besides, we all know monsters are incapable of love."

Even as his muscles strived to satisfy her, his lip curled in a wretched sneer. If that lousy dagger were not the bane of his existence, he would not hesitate to show Regina just how much of a monster he could be. _She will pay for this, _he seethed. _She will pay for the rest of her miserable, lonely life. _

"He is not the monster, Regina. You are," Belle roared magnificently, startling Regina from her glorious reverie of victory. "He is a better person than you can ever hope to be." It ached to know that Belle held so much faith in him, now, when he was about to make the worst mistake of his life. That pure faith only spurred Regina's mockery.

"We shall see," she hissed, fixing her focus on the heart in his hand.

One step at a time, he came within a foot of his love. His fingers reached out to trace the skin of her jaw, soft as petals. Belle tentatively met his eyes and he saw nothing but incredible love and strength coloring her irises. Past her strong-willed efforts to accept her fate, her shoulders trembled. A strap of her dress slipped down and he longed to hitch it back up again. A sob caught in her throat as he caressed her rosy cheek.

"Sweetheart," he whispered with all the emotion he could muster. It thrust an icy stone slab into his chest to witness this brave, virtuous young woman prepare herself for death. It was difficult for the words to make their way to his tongue. "It'll all be over soon," he promised.

A silent tear escaped her eyelids and soaked into the skin of his thumb. To her credit, she never closed her eyes, never turned her head away from what was inevitable to come. This was the way he would always remember her—despite her lowly, dismal situation, she would not utter a word of complaint.

And her heart pulsed in his palm. Oh, gods, he…he…

"I love you, Belle." If he was inches away from losing her forever, it was time he allowed himself to be completely unabashedly open with her. He was offering himself on a platter, if she would take it once more. There would be no hope of having her enter his shop again, miraculously alive.

Something changed in her demeanor, but it flashed too quickly for him to register its meaning. The weight of her head sunk into his hand and her own delicate hand rose to hold his there.

"I love you, Rumpelstiltskin." He tried to take his hand away, but she stubbornly clamped down on it, refusing to give him the easy way out. Closing his eyes, he felt his fingers begin to apply pressure, begin to squeeze…and the screams would start fresh…

Without warning, Belle grabbed up fistfuls of his suit and tugged him against her body. Her lips sought out his hesitant ones, melding perfectly together for one last kiss. In a split second, with his own heart splintering into jagged pieces, his free hand flew from her cheek to her neck to hold her tighter. His mouth reciprocated, responding gently.

It was an undemanding, pure kiss that reminded him of their very first time—he could almost smell the straw mixed with the sweet rose scent of her hair and hear the creak of the wheel as it spun. Never had he felt more broken and more complete at the same time. Never had he poured his soul into a person, everything he was and had now lay at her feet.

And it would soon end with her untimely death at his hands.

Something warm clouded his eyes and he realized he, too, was crying. It was the worst fate he could possibly imagine; Regina would refuse to kill him after he satisfied her command. That would be a blessing. He was to live with his guilt, his pain, his broken heart.

_They say it is better to have loved and lost…But I do love you…_

The kiss broke, their lips parting for air. To him, it was akin to being suffocated underneath a pillow. Already the taste of her was becoming less and less evident every time he licked his lips. All he could see was the shade of cerulean oceans.

"Oh, how sweet," Regina mocked blatantly. Clucking her tongue, she made a condescending _tsk-tsk. _"If you're trying to prove to our savior just how weak your love truly is, the two of you deserve an encore. I will not ask you again, Rumpel. Kill her. Next time, I plan to finish it myself."

Belle seemed content enough with their last kiss to rest her head against his chest, as close to him as she could possibly be. His fingers stroked the tangled strands of her chestnut hair before dipping down to sensually rub the small of her back.

But the craving was no longer there.

Stiffening, he listened to the silence of the chamber, so loud without the whisper of Regina's command. Blessedly, the muscles of his legs and arms relaxed, his fingers loosened around Belle's beating heart. No longer was there an insatiable thirst to squeeze it.

Most delicious of all, one word teased his lips, begging for passage.

"No."

Regina stuttered aloud in shock at his unexpected resistance. Emma sharply lifted her head, hope radiating from her in waves. Belle smiled and breathed a sigh of relief into the lapels of his suit. The clever girl.

"That is impossible. You can't defy the dagger unless…" Smirking, he deliberately treated himself to brushing the back of his hand across Belle's cheek.

"Unless it were…true love's kiss?" The color drained from Regina's face until it shone milky white. Ever so slowly, her gaze dropped to the blade in her grip. Over and over she rotated it, but there was no sign of Rumpelstiltskin's name. The binds had been severed.

The next time Regina dared to lock eyes with Rumpelstiltskin, realizing that the tables had turned most unfortunately, there was no hint of mercy waiting to be found. There were two hard patches of earth, searing into her very soul.

"Belle, do me a favor. Hold this," he murmured and eagerly handed her own heart into her palms.

He scrutinized Regina dangerously as a vulture would observe its sighted prey before swooping. Regina knew she was in trouble and began backing away only to bump into the wall of heart boxes. She waved the dagger in front of her, her only weapon.

With the swiftness of a rattlesnake, he lunged and caught her by the throat. The dagger had swiped the skin of his arm, slicing open his suit and shedding scarlet blood, but he ignored the pain. His knee came up and smashed against her wrist, forcing her to release the blade. It clattered somewhere on the floor, out of reach.

The weight of his body pinned her painfully to the wall, his figure flush against hers. All the while her eyeballs boggled from the increasing pressure on her throat, cutting off all circulation of air. It was her turn to suffer.

"What was that, Your Majesty? You want me to squeeze? Your wish is my command," he growled into the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her earlobe. And then his grip tightened until her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Her nails raked over the skin of his wrist, trying to draw it off.

"Stop it! If you kill her, then you're no better than she is," the rough, haughty voice of Emma insisted over his shoulder. Desperate hands scrambled over his suited arms as their little heroine tried to pry him away from Regina. Growing irritated, he lashed out and flung her backward to the floor like a useless ragdoll. _Now, Madame Mayor, where were we? _

The sound of a bustle came from the corner of the room, but he didn't have the mind to care. All he was interested in doing was squeezing the life from Regina as she had desired him to do to Belle. It was what she deserved. Come to think of it, her lips were turning a sickly blue hue.

Something cold pressed to the nape of his neck. The barrel of the gun; it only took him a matter of seconds to understand. Did that lovesick genie really have the guts to defend his unrequited love?

Shifting his head to the side, he was taken aback to see Sidney's limp form on the floor. Emma was the one brandishing the gun now. Which was more deadly? An oaf acting out of undue love or a stubborn heroine acting out of the goodness and virtue of her heart?

"Let her go, Gold," she flatly demanded, urging the gun into his neck. Regina's widened eyes rolled to Emma behind him, pleading for help. The irises were becoming disoriented—she was on the verge of passing out in his hold.

"Are you going to shoot me, Emma? She's the one in need of punishment," he replied coldly, jerking Regina's head into the stack of chests that stored her hearts. Perhaps he should make good on his word and rip out that filthy one from her chest. With its size being so terribly small, it must not take much encouragement to be ground to dust.

"That is not up to you to decide," Emma retorted. Belle's chains skittered across the floor as she tried to reach the object of her affection. The length of the chains stretched until she was brought up short by a few feet.

"Please! Don't shoot him. He's only trying to protect me," she cried out. He felt the gun nudge his skull once more and he imagined Emma's finger curled around the trigger. Would she really pull it, intending to kill him? Studying the pitiful situation that Regina was caught in, he decided she might.

"Doesn't give him the right to kill her," she mumbled. That only made him press his thumbs harder into the hollow of Regina's throat. That raven head dipped forward loosely, consciousness slipping through her fingers.

"Oh, but she has the right to force me to murder my true love. Funny outlook on life you have, Sheriff," he viciously tossed over his shoulder. "A double-edged sword, isn't it? You're holding the gun, Emma. The choice is in your hands. If you choose to spare me, I will inevitably kill her very slowly. Pull the trigger and no doubt she will still kill Belle and you in the end. Which is it?"

Just as he had expected, Emma faltered. Either way, she had blood on her hands. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, her integrity was worthless.

"He's still alive, you know. Barely, but he is only unconscious. Bleeding out as we speak," he said, tilting his head to Jefferson's unmoving body. His chest rose ever so slightly, unnoticeable unless you were watching. "He'll never make it to the hospital in time. Only I can help him."

"I don't care what you can do, Gold. All that matters is what you won't do. And you're not killing Regina. I'm choosing option three." His brow furrowed thoughtfully. Option three? He hadn't been aware of any such option—

"No, wait!" Belle shouted.

Something solid connected with his head, dazing his senses. He hadn't realized Emma had been holding his cane along with the gun. Stunned, his body fell away from Regina, allowing her to choke for air. The room spun in a million degrees as he crashed into the wall. Now he knew how Emma felt when he'd struck her with his cane in the cabin.

What was that fancy saying? What goes around comes around.

"Thank…you…" Regina croaked, rubbing her already bruised neck. Emma sent her a piercing glare and trapped her firmly by the shoulder.

"Don't thank me yet. You don't deserve to get off that easily. You'll be going somewhere nice and cozy, Madame Mayor." She pivoted her blonde head in Jefferson's direction, regret welling up in her face. "You said you could help him," she reminded Rumpelstiltskin.

Gradually, he rose to his feet and limped across the room to where Jefferson lay. The hatter had certainly seen better days, even in Wonderland. His foot nudged his leg and there was a barely audible moan of agony from deep inside Jefferson's throat.

He could feel the intensity of Belle's stare burning into his back as he bent down and placed a hand directly over the deadly wound. Channeling that old energy, he was not sure if he possessed it until a violet aura radiated from his hand, ebbing over Jefferson's suit. This well of magic was decidedly different; it did not choke him or control him with a dark menacing being as before. This time, the magic came to him because he chose to help Jefferson of his own will.

The troublesome bullet found its way into his palm, the wound closing until it was hardly there at all. Only a faint white scar revealed the spot where Jefferson had been shot. His breathing came much easier than before, though he did not regain consciousness.

"Consider that repayment for helping me find Belle," he told Emma as he stood up. Emma waited to hear Jefferson's rhythmic breathing before leading Regina from the chamber. To his surprise, she paused on the threshold and glanced back at him in calculation.

"I won't say you're a good man, Gold. That would be optimistic. But…you're not that much of a monster, either." Emma offered Belle one last long look and then she ascended the stairs, dragging the Queen out into the night.

….

"No, what are you doing? You can't do this to me!" Regina howled all the way down the dim corridor.

The minute she figured out her intended fate, she started struggling for freedom. But Emma simply knocked her knee into Regina's leg to keep her moving and reminded her of the gun that prodded her head. Emma wasn't even sure she would ever pull the trigger, but Regina seemed compliant enough.

"Why, Madame Mayor, haven't you heard? Payback's a bitch," Emma muttered before edging open the cell door next to Sidney's. Ironically, it used to belong to a lonely, miserable girl by the name of Isabella French. "Welcome home."

And she roughly shoved Regina inside the cell, locking the door behind her. Noises of banging and kicking followed Emma's heels down the winding hallway. The long-haired janitor mopping the floor offered her a polite nod.

"You can't do this! You can't leave me here! I just wanted to win for once! I…I'm sorry!" Emma scoffed as she passed by the nurse's station and climbed the narrow steps to the false exit above, intending to wait around until the ambulance showed up carrying Jefferson's body.

"No, you're not," she huffed under her breath. "Not yet."

…

"Have you ever done this before?"

Belle had released her heart again to Rumpelstiltskin, only so he could return it to its proper place. Naïve about magic, she did not possess the knowledge of how to replace the organ inside her chest herself. Tentatively, his tongue darted out to trace his upper lip.

"No," he admitted honestly. His concentration was fully trained on guiding the heart toward her body. "Unlike Regina, I do not rip out hearts simply because I can. There must be a reason. Likewise, the people whose hearts I claim don't often live to tell the tale."

Belle made a small round 'O' with her lips in bleak understanding, but did not disrupt him further. She could tell this was an unnerving task for him by the way his muscles seemed to bunch up around his shoulders and the small trickle of sweat that hovered above his brow. She spread her arms to allow him full access to her chest as need be.

"This may hurt," he warned, but Belle did not appear frightened. Regina had caused her enough suffering to outweigh any that he could provoke. Gently, she placed a hand on his wrist and found it trembling.

"I trust you," she ensured with a tone that suggested he was silly for thinking otherwise. Slowly, her hand dropped away from his wrist. Leaning her head back against the wall, she waited.

In one sudden thrust—for these things really couldn't be done slowly without risking greater pain—the heart was shoved through the golden fabric into her chest. Belle's eyelids fluttered closed as his fingers moved it into place. For a tense moment, it seemed she was unable to draw a breath. Her skin took on the texture of creamy porcelain.

"Belle?" It was merely a whisper, but he hoped she heard it.

Fearfully, he wondered if he'd somehow done it wrong. Panic began to rise within him, making his nerves coil with anxiety and despair. Did he perhaps push the heart into her lung? Was such a thing remotely possible? Oh, gods, what if in some twisted last touch of fate, he killed her? He put his free hand to her chin, peering closely at her eyelids.

"Sweetheart, please…come back to me. Say something." He rested his forehead against hers and willed her to breathe again.

There was an intense gasp from Belle's throat before her eyes shot wide open. He smiled faintly as color brightened her cheeks, returning them to their previous rosy hue. Then he realized his hand was still buried in her chest.

"You certainly know how to get straight to the point. Thank you," she whispered, even as he used magic to sever the shackles around her wrists. "Thank you for everything you've done. For saving me and Jefferson."

He knew this was her sly way of asking about his use of magic without actually nagging about it. And he found he was willing to be honest with her, at least partly while he tried to sort out the raving thoughts in his head. She was to be his wife, after all; a thought that both thrilled him and wracked his nerves to no end.

""What can I say? I've used magic for so many years, relied on it for so many reasons…I suppose not all traces of it can be vanquished. Except now, I have full control over what I do with it, not that dark being that used me as its host." He scoffed at the idea of the Dark One. Then, he looked to her uncertainly. "Unless…you'd rather I not…?"

Belle rubbed her red wrists and offered him a kind smile. She drifted to him and ran a hand along the line of his jaw.

"How many times must I tell you before you listen? I love you. It doesn't matter what world we find ourselves in or what form you take. You've always held my heart in your hand and I've always chosen to see you in one light." _As a better man than I give myself credit for, _he recalled from their time spent in the cabin in the woods.

"Believe it or not, I think I'm starting to understand it," he said, more to himself than to his fiancée. He drew back from her long enough to retrieve the simple dagger that was once so powerful. It had even lost some of its luster along the blade as a result of the absence of magic. "Amazing. For centuries, this dagger has been my weakness. Without it, I thought I would be nearly indestructible. Now, I see I was wrong."

Joining Belle's side, he shot the dagger down into the floor, where it quivered before standing tall. He curled a lock of her rich hair around his finger and drowned in her soft blue eyes. Only it wasn't really drowning; that was the wrong word. It was more like…free-falling into the sky.

"It's been you. For a long time, it's been you, Belle. You are my weakness, as much as you are my strength." Taking her hand, he placed a chaste kiss over the shining gem of her engagement ring. "Let's go home." And then he took her away from that wretched place.

…

Emma lightly knocked on the door of the hospital room and debated whether to go in. Dr. Whale had informed her that Jefferson was awake and was allowed to have visitors. And there he was: lounging back in his bed and watching re-runs of _Bewitched _on the flimsy television hanging on the wall.

"I wish I could have anything I want with the twitch of my nose. This woman makes it look so easy," he exclaimed without looking away from the screen. He tried twitching his nose, but failed miserably.

"Glad to see you're more or less back to normal," she mused as she entered the room. His dark eyes flickered to her and they gleamed with amusement. Oh, yes, there was that arrogant look about him and that flirtatious curve of his lips.

"Define normal," he challenged. She defiantly tried to give him the most serious stare she could. It was a little contest between them and Emma blinked first.

"I meant normal for _you,"_ she clarified.

Decidedly, she took a seat in the chair beside his bed and all at once the muscles in her legs screamed in relief. The ordeal of tonight had taken a gigantic toll on her and she was about ready to tumble into a bed and sleep for one hundred years. But first she revealed the object that she had been clutching for the past half hour.

"I brought your hat. I'm sure you'd throw a tantrum if you lost it."

Gratefully, he accepted it and placed it atop his head. Emma had to bite down on her lip to quell the laughter threatening to give way. Just the sight of him in that hospital bed with the top hat on his head was enough to make her smile.

"Great. Now all I need is my cravat and proper clothes that don't open embarrassingly in the back." His eyebrows rose as he scrutinized her up and down. "So…did we win?" _If we didn't, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be here, _Emma thought wryly. But she humored his curiosity.

"Are you kidding? We practically drove Regina into the ground after you forfeited the game," she assured him. Jefferson made a fist-pump of victory. "Belle is alive. Apparently, true love's kiss broke Gold…uh,_ Rumpelstiltskin's_ curse. And Regina is holed up in a cell several floors beneath your feet."

Jefferson nodded in time with every piece of good news. Peeling back the sheets, he observed his worn body and the sterile hospital room.

"Obviously I'm not in heaven," he concluded. "If this were heaven, there would be better food. This Jell-O jiggles worse than Regina after her Christmas parties," he quipped, poking a spork into the red glob of Jell-O on his tray. His face lit up as though he realized something spectacular. One of his hands dipped beneath the crisp white sheets to rub his chest. "The only way I could be alive right now after that bullet is by….magic."

Emma's deliberately down-turned gaze and tightened lips told him all he needed to know. He tossed his head back and groaned.

"You let that imp put his hands on me while I was out? Now, I feel personally violated. And in need of a hot bath."

He swiped at his chest as if he could rid his skin of eau de Rumpelstiltskin. Emma thought he was overreacting just a bit. It wasn't like Rumpelstiltskin would dare touch Jefferson with a ten-foot pole on any other occasion.

"It was either that or let you die," she argued. Hesitantly, she raked back her blonde hair from her forehead and took his hand. It was a big step for her, considering her comfort level. "There aren't many things in this world that can scare me. But you did tonight. Don't ever do that to me again."

She was unaware that a pearl of a tear had formed at the corner of her eye until his thumb brushed it away. And then her wall reconstructed itself and her face took on the hard-edged appearance that existed one too many times for Emma Swan. Regret flashed through his face, his muscles wincing.

"I couldn't let him obey Regina and kill her," he explained, his voice rising considerably. Longing and ache swam through her irises and he moaned. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Emma. Despite what you may think, I am not in love with Belle. But she is my best friend, if I ever had one. You'd do anything for your family, just as I would do anything for mine."

Emma nodded stiffly to show she understood to some degree. Truthfully, she was not terribly jealous of Jefferson's relationship with Belle. If anything, she considered Belle lucky to have someone who deeply cared for her well-being enough to take a bullet for her. After everything miserable that happened to the girl, she deserved it.

Just then, a pair of small footsteps sounded at the door. Emma turned around in her seat to see Henry and Grace standing in the doorway. In the hallway, Snow and Charming waited patiently with their backs to the door.

"Papa," Grace cried out and ran to Jefferson's bedside to embrace him warmly. The girl buried her head in her father's shoulder and murmured wishes of him getting better and questions of his "accident." Jefferson's hand slipped away from her cheek as he eagerly returned his daughter's hug and held her close.

Emma slowly rose from her chair, knowing that their moment was over. The least she could do was give him a moment alone with his daughter.

"Wait," Jefferson called out to her retreating back. When she glanced around, he was eyeing Grace with seriousness, an internal debate raging inside him. He gestured a palm to Emma invitingly. "Grace, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. Her name is Emma. She saved my life tonight."

Emma didn't think it'd be helpful to point out that it was technically Rumpelstiltskin who'd extracted the bullet from his wound and ensured his survival, even if she was the one to convince him to do so. Instead, she awkwardly gave the young girl a friendly smile. At least, she prayed it was friendly. It'd been a long time since Emma had a reason to smile at anyone.

"Nice to meet you, Emma," Grace kindly greeted. She even gave a little curtsy for good measure. It warmed Emma's heart, especially with the way Jefferson observed her so proudly. "You're Henry's mom, right?" Emma swallowed unnervingly, searching for the right words to say.

"Yes, I am," she confirmed and brought Henry into her arms to prove it. Her kid tilted his head back and grinned happily up at her. It was one of the first genuine times she had readily proclaimed herself as his mother and he would not let her forget it easily. Emma rested her head on top of Henry's and savored the comfort stemming from his hug. "Nice to meet you, Grace."

And Jefferson smiled.

…..

"Stop pulling away," Belle scolded the next time he hissed.

All she'd done so far was roll the sleeve of his dress shirt to his elbow and examined the slice in his arm. Regina had cut him sharply, stretching from his forearm to his elbow. Thankfully, it was not so deep that it would be a major problem. He hated hospitals almost as much as she did.

"It's not that serious, Belle. It's barely a nick," he insisted, trying to tug away from her grasp. Sitting beside him on the library's couch, she leaned back and pulled his arm closer into her lap. He wasn't going anywhere; she hung on like a stubborn child.

"You're just afraid of the medicine I'll put on it. It's perfectly normal, the fear of anticipation. But if we don't do this, it could get infected," she reminded him softly. On a table in front of her was a bowl of warm water, in which she gingerly submersed a hand-towel.

"Not if I use magic to heal it," he countered. But she would not allow him to depend on magic tonight. It wasn't because she disliked his use of magic at all, either. Underneath her eyelashes, she put on a pair of doe-eyes.

"You helped me tonight. Now it's my turn to help you. I am nursing this cut back to health and there is nothing you can say, Rumpelstiltskin, that will change my mind," she declared with finality. And so she pinned his arm to her lap and studied it as though she were a professional doctor.

There was absolutely no arguing with her. She was possibly the only person in this world or the next who could put him in his place so rapidly and leave him at a loss for words. Belle's passion could prove so great that there was simply no deterring her once her mind was made up. But he secretly admired that unexpected take-charge determination. As delicate as she initially seemed, her inner strength could rival that of Emma Swan.

Belle lifted the damp towel from the bowl and wrung it out. The moment the warm cloth touched his open wound, he hissed again and jerked back.

"That hurts," he growled, inspecting the wound carefully. Belle wasted no time in grabbing his hand back and held it down on her knee while she waited for him to stop resisting.

"If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much," she fired back without missing a beat. He opened his mouth to protest, but there was no further point to be made. Swallowing his pride, he forced himself to relax in her care and winced whenever the wound ached.

Belle was nearly an expert—she was patient as she dabbed and cleaned out the wound before carefully wrapping it in white gauze, making sure to tight it firmly but gently. She even undid the messy wrappings around his hand and made a low _tsk-tsk _at the grisly cut across his palm.

"Give me a break, dearie. It's been centuries since I treated my wounds the slow way. Normally, I would have it healed in moments until it was barely a paper-cut," he explained as she silently worked on his cut from earlier in the evening. Someone still needed to clean up the shards of glass, too. As she cleaned the cut, he bit his tongue—it stung terribly. "But you…you are excellent at this…sort of thing. As I figured you would be."

Belle cradled his hand in her lap. She did not respond vocally to his compliment, but that small smile—the one she saved especially for him alone—spoke volumes. She finished treating his palm, her fingertips dancing and exploring his skin. He closed his eyes to savor the feel of her hand pressing against his own. And then she patted it.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" He extracted his hand and surveyed her handiwork. Not bad.

"Depends. Do I get a lollipop?" Belle laughed musically and rewarded him with something sweeter: a kiss on the lips. He moaned into it, though he did not pressure her further. "Mm…cherry."

Belle sighed with content and rested her head on his shoulder to watch the flames crackling in the fireplace. Her ears rang with the silence of the house now that all the guests had gone home for the night. Perhaps they could host another ball soon and enjoy it this time.

Or perhaps the two of them could stay in this moment forever, just like this, listening to the matching rhythm of their hearts. Rumpelstiltskin kissed the crown of her head and she knew he was thinking along the same lines.

"Now what?" She tilted her head back so that she could stare up at him wonderingly. His skin shone golden in the flicker of the flames, his brown eyes two thoughtful gems.

There were many plans to make in the wake of their engagement, but she sensed he was not concerned with any of it. The turmoil written on his face was too great. Lightly, she comfortingly squeezed his hand; the uninjured one.

"Now…I wish to find my son," he announced.

To Belle, it felt right and logical. He had strived to create a massive curse that would allow him access to another world for the purpose of reuniting with his son. It only made sense that he finished what he started. Deep down, she could not fault a man that would travel worlds for his child.

Inevitably, her thoughts shifted to her own father, who all but disowned her in learning about her true love. During Regina's torment, while she had experienced excruciating pain, she had thought of her father at least once. How he did not know she intended to marry and how her life might have ended with the two of them being on bitter terms.

"There's something I want to do as well," she started uneasily. Facing the challenge would not be so difficult, but what would Rumpelstiltskin think of it? He looked down to her and waited. The words nearly stuck to the roof of her mouth. "I want to tell my father about our engagement."

Instantly, his body stiffened beside her, his grip becoming a little too tight. A grim frown plagued his lips, but he did not ask her reasoning for the abrupt request. He knew her too well sometimes. No doubt some part of her would always be a mystery to him, but there were times he could read her like a book.

"Must you always give him chances?" He scowled unpleasantly and glared into the fire. "After everything that man has done to you…" She gripped his arm, making him look at her.

"Please? I think he should know. I want him to know that I can be happy," she pleaded.

For a long time, he narrowed his eyes disapprovingly toward the flames and refused to say a word. She knew he was thinking of all the harsh words her father had flung in her face before. She was sure he would not answer until he sighed in defeat.

"This will make you happy? If your father…unlikely…accepts it?" Belle did not like his sour outlook, but she nodded in answer. "Then, so be it." She weaved her fingers through his.

"And we'll do this together? We'll face it all together?" He willingly copied her gesture of weaving their hands and tried to smile positively. There would be plenty of challenges on their horizon, but still he disregarded it and absorbed the hope in her eyes.

"Together," he promised. And Rumpelstiltskin never broke his promises.

….

_**I think the last chapter had the most reviews of any throughout this story! I must thank you all for the wonderful support. Here's to aradiaeva, cheesyteal'c, LionshadeSC, Jennifer, Grace5231973, Lupa Eira, Drac1026, ImaginationEverything, megumisakura, Romance and Musicals, Cannot Say, MangaGrl2665, sbcarri, rene10, Linzerj, Stargate533, Gracounette, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	39. Chapter 39

_**A/N: Hello, everyone. I know most of you were wondering if that last chapter was the end, but (fortunately) it is not. I have a couple more things planned in mind for this story. **_

_**And wow….that cliffhanger in The Outsider…if any of you have not yet seen it, I promise not to spoil it, but I have to admit that I was chucking my remote at the television screen. And I've only done that once or twice for a show I watch. Any of you see that coming? **_

_**Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter, anyway. I tried to make it a nice, sweet one. **_

_Ring….ring….ring…_

The dull dial tone buzzed in Belle's ear while she waited for her father to pick up the phone. Her fingers absently teased the petals of a flower on the kitchen table.

Part of her impatiently urged him to pick up already; the other half secretly wished she would get the answering machine since she was unsure of how he'd take the news. The news that Rumpelstiltskin was to become her husband. _Husband, _she tested the word out on her tongue. _And I am to be his wife. _

"Hello?" Her father's gruff voice erupted from the phone, startling her from her awed reverie. Her brain seemed to fizzle and short-circuit for a moment, her mouth unable to form any of the words she had recited consistently in her head since last night. "Who is this? Bloody kids…"

He was about to hang up the phone, she realized with a sensation akin to being doused with a bucket of ice water. Belle rapidly swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Papa?" It was a raspy whisper and she wondered if he had heard it before replacing the phone in its cradle.

The silence was deafening on the other end and it worried her. Did he hang up already? Or did he think it was a trick of his imagination that his daughter was calling?

"Belle," he breathed with obvious surprise. The latter option, then. "This is…unexpected." Belle clutched the phone tightly in her hand and searched her mind for a viable response.

"I suppose it is," she agreed solemnly. "How are you?" Instantly, she cringed. How had her relationship with her father become so dysfunctional and so awkward that they were reduced to small talk to fill in the spaces?

"I've been….good," he gradually admitted. "The flower shop's still running. And the bruises are clearing up nicely these days. And you?" Belle tilted her head to gaze out the window at the sprawling back yard. It was a nice day and would have been perfect for reading outside.

Then she realized her father was still waiting for an answer. The memory of last night's events and Regina threatened to spill forth, but she didn't want to tell him about any of it. No parent wanted to hear that their child had been on the precipice of death. It would only make him worry more.

"I've never felt better," she answered honestly. There had been a noticeable spring in her step when she awoke this morning and went about her early routine. It was as though Rumpel had breathed new life into her body upon sharing that true love's kiss.

"Oh," her father murmured flatly. He didn't sound pleased to hear it. "I'm assuming you're still with…_him." _Disapproval tainted his voice and for the first time Belle began to have serious doubts about carrying this deed out.

If she was unwilling to fight in the name of her love, perhaps she would have accepted the fact that her father would never view her relationship with Rumpel in a worthy, good light. It hurt her deeply to understand it, but her father would rather lose her completely than share a piece of her existence with Rumpelstiltskin.

"Yes, I am," she tersely retorted, tearing her eyes away from the window. She could hear his rough breathing on the other end. "As a matter of fact, that's part of the reason why I'm calling." _I'm marrying Rumpelstiltskin, _she added silently in her head.

"You need somewhere to run?" Belle's mouth dropped open and nearly hit the floor. Frustration built up in her veins until she felt ready to explode. Of all the assumptions her father could make, that was the first one he concocted.

"No, papa! I am not trying to escape him! He's been nothing but kind to me all this time and he has done absolutely nothing to hurt me." Belle forced down the anger and tried to get a steady grip on her emotions. "I have something to tell you."

"I'm listening," he prodded. Belle plucked a petal from the flower and rubbed the silky texture between her fingers.

"It's not something I can tell you over the phone. I want to be able to tell you face to face," she requested. More silence hummed in her ear. He cursed under his breath, but she ignored it.

"Oh, no, sweetie, you're not…you're not pregnant, are you?"

Belle sank her head into her hand and swore she could feel the color drain from her face. She was suddenly thankful that Rumpelstiltskin had remained in bed. If he saw her face now, white as a ghost, he would demand to speak to her father himself.

"Gods, no! And would you make such a fuss if I were? My mother was hardly a year older than me when she conceived, according to your story," she shot back hotly. In any case, she didn't think they were ready for that level of commitment. Marriage was enough of a challenge ahead without adding a baby to the mix.

"Yes, but your mother and I were married! I have the nasty feeling he's not the type to uphold sex after marriage. And your mother would never carry the child of a…" Belle winced in anticipation of harsh words—beast, monster, imp, devil. "Of a man like him," he caught himself in time. It didn't ease her mind any.

"Look, this is a very sensitive, very important matter. I want to have the chance to meet with you on civil terms and tell you, if you'll only let me," she pleaded.

Why did she have to choose between her father and her love? Why could they not co-exist? Like electricity and water, they were destined to oppose.

The emptiness on the other end stretched on so long that she was certain her father had disconnected. That was his answer, then—a straight-out 'no', crystal clear as a church bell. But as she went to replace the phone, a string of garble emerged from it.

"What?" She held it up to her ear again and waited for him to repeat it.

"I said…okay. Of course, honey. When shall I expect you?" Belle's eyes roamed to the elaborate, ancient clock hanging on the wall of the kitchen.

"In an hour. I want to do this as soon as possible," she decided, fingering the delicate jewel on her finger. She bit her lip and wondered if she should mention the fact that she would not be arriving alone.

"An hour it is. I'll even make that tea you've always liked," he gladly accepted. The waves were calming, but the storm was not yet over. That came later. "Oh, and Belle?" She listened carefully, holding her breath. "I've missed you."

It felt as if a heavy stone had lifted from her heart. She realized how long she had been waiting to hear her father say something in that nature. It brought a smile to her lips.

"I've missed you, too," she happily returned and meant it. They bade their goodbyes for now and hung up. For a long peaceful moment, Belle remained by the table, smiling youthfully. This might work out, after all.

Now all she needed to do was somehow convince her fiancé to get out of bed.

…..

Belle pushed open the bedroom door with her elbow, carrying a warm cup of tea in hand. As she expected, Rumpelstiltskin's still form occupied the covers and sheets of the bed as he lay snoozing on his stomach. Sometimes, he could be so hopelessly stubborn.

She briskly crossed the room to his side and laid the cup of tea on the bedside table, a mere foot from his face. Hopefully, the aroma would at least stir him. His breath came softly, the strands of his hair fluttering. Gently, she rested a hand on his shoulder blade and nudged him.

"Rumpel…"

He moaned into his pillow and craned his head the other way, flat-out ignoring her attempts to drag him from dreamland. Sighing, she crawled onto her side of the bed and leaned her head into her hand to stare intently at him. She knew he was awake.

"Sweetheart…you do remember our plans for the day?"

One of his eyelids lifted and he blinked lazily at her. Then he buried his face further into the pillow. She snuggled closer and nestled her head on his pillow, a breath away. She smiled when she realized he could feel it due to the fact that he scrunched his nose.

"My father won't take the news of our engagement lightly if I'm snuggling with you in bed," she said in a soft whisper. This time, he opened both eyes wide and studied her sharply, awake and alert. He grimaced.

"Dear, your father likely won't take the news lightly _at all_. I'm quite comfortable right here," he insisted, bringing the covers tighter around his body and up to his chin. Belle frowned as he fluffed up his pillow and settled his head down again. She understood what the problem was: a dreadful case of cold feet.

"Last night, we agreed we would—" She began to reason with him, only to have him jolt up in bed. He gazed down at her critically, a miserable frown creasing his lips.

"Last night…I had been distraught and afraid of losing you. My nerves were shot to hell, my heart was on a rampage, and I could have been coming down with something from the rain. Clearly, I was not in my right state of mind," he argued. Every word sent Belle's hopes crashing down in a heap at her feet. "Obviously, I was not thinking straight, but now I am. And unless you intend to grab me by the ankles and drag me out, then I'd say—"

He paused in his spiel when Belle rolled over onto her side and sniffled. Her legs curled up, her knees brushing her stomach. Her hands clutched at her sides as her body quivered. It melted his stony defense to realize she was…crying. He'd never truly dealt with a crying Belle before—he didn't know how to handle this situation.

"Oh, no. Please, love, not the tears. I…I'm sorry," he sincerely apologized. He reached out to touch her shoulder and she stiffened under his fingertips. She brought a hand up to wipe her cheek free of moisture. Guilt coiled along his nerves like barbed wire.

"Last night, I thought you meant everything you said. I thought…we were going to do this together. You've changed your mind," she gasped into her pillow. He sensed he had upset her far too greatly this time. It pained him to understand he'd inadvertently caused her so much distress.

"No, I did. Belle, I meant every word. You're right—we should handle this together. You and I will confront your father and we shall tell him of our engagement immediately. And if he does not agree with it, then we will do it anyway."

He threaded his fingers through hers and willed her to smile. Miraculously, Belle rolled over and did just that, no sign of tears marking her rosy cheeks.

"Then you best be ready in a few minutes," she told him without so much as a sob in her voice. It was…a trick? A quip? A sly form of manipulation? It seemed he was rubbing off on her character more than he feared. Oh, the sneaky, clever, little…

Belle started to rise from the bed, but his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down. Gently, he pinned her underneath his body and tried to maintain a serious face. She was giggling.

"You know, I don't like it when people play pranks on me, dearie. For that, I think I'll have to punish you." Belle playfully circled her arms around his neck and demanded that he come down to her. Their lips hovered an inch apart, his fingers delving into her dark curls.

"Oh, no. Please, don't. Spare me," she feigned desperation, pressing a palm flat against his chest.

Beneath his skin, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. He was excited. Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm, his tongue tracing her life-line. A devilish gleam entranced his brown eyes.

"_Don't _spare you? Why, my dear, your wish is my command," he lilted an instant before his mouth landed on hers, hot and insistent. He cupped her chin to keep her head steady while he kissed her hard and passionately. Halfway through, she could barely breathe any longer, but she smiled into the kiss and returned it eagerly.

Both of them were panting heavily when the kiss ultimately broke, their chests heaving for air. She ran her fingers through his hair while she gazed up at him longingly. He was watching her as if convinced she must be a passing daydream.

"My sentence is to have you kiss me? Oh, I must stage a prison break," she quipped teasingly, even as she licked the taste off him off her lips. His grin grew considerably and his fingers lightly traced the curve of her upper lip.

"You're not getting off the hook that easily, I'm afraid."

His head loomed forward until his lips brushed the line of her jaw. Belle instinctively leaned her head back into the pillow to offer him her full white throat. A trail of small kisses burned its way underneath her jaw to the fluttering hollow of her throat and then up to the lobe of her ear.

"By the time I'm through with you, I'll have kissed you so hard and so frequently that you'll be much too dizzy to make it out of bed. Where shall I begin?"

His teeth grazed the skin of her earlobe and underneath it—she couldn't help but to moan and close her eyes in bliss. Upon hearing her soft cry, he paused as though concerned whether she truly liked it. Her hand impatiently lifted to hold the back of his neck, encouraging him to continue. He chuckled with relief into her ear and his lips sought out hers once more, moving tenderly.

"Rumpel," she breathed once his lips allowed her air. "Maybe we should carry on the sentencing _after_ the meeting with my father. I told him we'd be coming within the hour and I'm not sure a love bite on my neck will make a good impression."

Reluctantly, he arched his body back, his irises shadowy and hazy with yearning.

"Appearances are everything, aren't they?" Groaning, he rolled off of her and perched on the edge of the mattress.

Stretching leisurely, his muscles rippled across his arms and back with visible tension. The anxiety of Hurricane Regina did not bode well for him. Belle was tempted to offer a massage to loosen his muscles. Maybe he could add it to her sentence.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, he patted her leg reassuringly.

"I'll be ready in a few minutes," he promised, making the journey to his closet to find a reasonable outfit. Knowing him, a few minutes would turn into half an hour and he would fret about which suit was appropriate and which tie matched. Not to mention shaving and the state of his hair.

But Belle gave him the benefit of the doubt, nodding pleasantly as she headed for the door.

"Oh," she exclaimed as though having just remembered something. She spun on her heel and he lifted an eyebrow questioningly. "Don't forget to drink your tea before it gets cold."

….

It had been almost an hour exactly when Belle rang the doorbell of her father's house.

Just as she had predicted, Rumpel had taken longer than necessary to pick out his suit, to the point where she had marched into the room and selected one for him—a simple charcoal one with a clean white dress shirt. She herself wore a plain blue dress that she continuously smoothed down with her hands. She did it again and Rumpel swiftly clasped her wrists.

"Stop worrying. You look beautiful," he told her. She wriggled out of his grasp and linked her arm through his. If they were to do this together, they might as well act the part as well.

"If anyone should be worrying, it should be me," she said, blowing a loose curl of hair from her nose. "Remember: no arguing, no mocking, no making strange faces behind his back, no death threats, and no brandishing your cane around—" He fixed his tie for the umpteenth time and rapped his knuckles insistently on the door.

"I know the rules, love. I'll be on my best behavior," he assured her. "If he stays on his," he muttered under his breath.

Before Belle could reprimand him for the comment, the door swung open wide and her father darkened the doorway. He did look better than the last time they met; his bruises had lightened to a dull yellow shade now.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Belle. I was just making the tea—" He stopped midsentence when he noticed Rumpel by her side. Her charming fiancé dared to raise an eyebrow in challenge, silently bidding him to do his worst. "You told me you'd be coming alone."

Already the tension in the air was palpable. She looked down to see Rumpel's hand clutching that cane tighter and she gently squeeze his arm to remind him of that talk a few seconds ago. _Relax, _she tried to convey but his expressionless face didn't tell her whether he understood or obeyed.

"I told you I wanted to meet with you to tell you something important, papa…and that is true. But this is also something _we_ need to do together." Would her father have so readily agreed if she had announced her fiancé's company?

She met Rumpel's trivial eyes. Her gut twisted as she waited for her father to slam the door or tell Rumpel to leave them in peace. But neither one occurred. To her surprise, her father stepped aside and allowed them to pass.

It was while she slipped by him into the warmth of the house that she happened to lock onto his steely gaze and notice the slight pink puffiness. Almost as if he had been crying before she arrived. Belle opened her mouth to ask about it, but her father lumbered off toward the kitchen, expecting them to follow.

Three mugs were taken down from the shelf and were filled to the brim with steaming hot tea. One for each of them, though Rumpel never touched his. Her father made a remark about how it wasn't poisoned, but Rumpel did not take a sip. The paranoia of the Dark One had not yet dissolved.

They took seats at the rickety kitchen table, with Belle conveniently seated between the two most important men of her life.

"Now, what is this serious matter you're desperate to inform me about?"

Belle grasped blindly for the right words, but none came. Whenever she began to announce it, she changed her mind about the format. _Papa, I'm getting married. Papa, I am marrying Rumpelstiltskin. Papa…Rumpelstiltskin and I are…no, no, no…_

Underneath the table, Rumpel took one of Belle's hands from her lap; for support, she presumed. And then the hand lifted to Rumpel's lips and she remembered it was the hand that bore her engagement ring. Rumpel's mouth lingered beside it, drawing her father's attention directly to it.

"Belle…is that…?" His eyes widened in horror.

A warm blush rose to her cheeks as she wrangled her hand from Rumpel's lips. That was certainly one way of getting the message across. She could feel her father's eyes on her, drilling holes into her skin as he waited for her confirmation. Slowly, she drew in a breath and released it, trying to stop the pounding of her heart.

"Papa, I'm…getting married," she quietly revealed. She extended her hand so that he could examine the ring.

Immediately, she expected him to protest, jump up and become furious at Rumpel for sweeping his daughter away a second time, something resentful of that sort. But there was an almost sad look in his eyes as his finger touched the ring.

And then he did the most unexpected thing of all: he laughed. It was not a doubling over, hearty, tears-inducing laugh. It was a brief, deep-throated chuckle.

"That would have been my second guess," he sighed, dropping her hand to the table. Belle could hardly believe her father's compliance. She squirmed in her seat like a person viewing a play and anticipating the final twist.

"Actually, that would be your third guess," she corrected out of habit. Much like Rumpel, she was a stickler for details. "Second was that I was pregnant and the first was that I wanted to run away from Rumpelstiltskin. But I am not pregnant and I do not want to run away," she quickly said for Rumpel's sake.

Her father sat still in his chair, his fingers folded into a ladder over his stomach. He nodded thoughtfully, eyeing an invisible spot on the tiled kitchen floor.

"Does this mean I'm free to gloat about winning your daughter's heart?" Belle squeezed her eyes shut as her father glared across the table at Rumpel. And they had been doing so well.

She was suddenly grateful that his Storybrooke counterpart was a florist and not a police officer or a hunter. Otherwise, she had a feeling he would be sitting with a loaded gun pointed at Rumpel's chest.

"You…don't mind that I'm getting married?" Thankfully, her father's attention returned to her rather than her fiance. Tentatively, he swiped a hand across his sweaty brow.

"Mind? Well, of course I _mind_, Belle. You're my only daughter and you've come back only to tell me that you're marrying someone I would never have chosen for you." Rumpel snorted beside her.

"According to your standards, dearie, I don't even make the Top 1000," he complained.

Belle's foot nudged against Rumpel's under the table—a warning to watch his words. He nudged her back to prove he was listening and settled back in his chair, subdued.

"Anyway," her father continued after shooting an uneasy glance at Rumpel. "I've been thinking quite a lot since you've last seen me, Belle. I've been sifting through some old stuff, particularly the belongings in your—uh, Isabella's room. I…I think there's something I need to share with you as well."

The sound of crumpling paper reached her ears as her father drew out a long piece of parchment from his pocket. He slid it across the table to her and beckoned for her to read it. The ends of the parchment hopelessly rolled upwards and she had to hold the top and bottom flat on the table.

Then, she began to read the ancient letter penned in her mother's hand.

_Dearest, _

_If you are reading this letter, it means my time in this world has come and gone. I can feel the sickness taking hold of me as I sit here writing these last words to you. But I am not afraid and so I ask the same of you. Do not be afraid of my fate, though I expect you will grieve sadly for a great time. You must know I love you as I have loved no other and it pains me to imagine living in a world without you or leaving you behind. But at the same time, I believe you cannot escape fate. _

_With my death, I leave you two unfinished matters. One of them is a gift, this child I am carrying. The other…_

_I never told you the tale of how I crossed paths with the Dark One, did I? No, of course not. It was this day, as a matter of fact. _

_When I took my usual walk to tend to the rosebushes in the gardens, he was travelling by foot through our kingdom. I know you must be quite afraid as you read this, but do not be. I was not afraid of this tremendously dark being, no matter the rumors. I always believed that evil is never born, but made. _

_Do you remember those vivid dreams I would have almost every night? You would shake me awake and comfort me as I shook off the remnants of the dream. You would stroke my hair and hum a lullaby in my ear to soothe me back to sleep. You would always blame yourself for not being able to do more to stop the dreams and grant me peace. Imagine—you were a king that could rule his kingdom and make it prosper, but you could not give your wife peace of mind. _

_I never blamed you. _

_From the time I was young, I knew I was different. A natural seer, my mother called me. And yet, despite the shunning I earned in my village and the oddity of my gift, you glimpsed something different in me. Something worth loving, and so you gave your love to me. And I thank you for that with every beat of my heart. _

_This is precisely why I did not fear this supposed Dark One. He recognized that I was suffering from this wretched illness and offered to cure me—for a price. That price would have been our unborn daughter, I already know. Do not fret—I declined his offer and he went about his way. It was not time for those two souls to meet. _

_You see, this dark creature has visited my dreams once or twice. I glimpsed something about him and the fate that would intertwine with that of our daughter. And that day, meeting him in flesh, he is not as bad as the villagers claim. I think I may have seen a fragment of the man he once was and the man he could be. In those dreams, I envisioned him…and in my dreams, he made our daughter happy. And for my daughter's happiness, I would accept fate. _

_True love is the most powerful magic, as any being of power will tell you. Do you believe in true love? Soul mates? To see past the surface and love a person for precisely what they are underneath the skin? Appearances can be deceiving, as you know. _

_Do not mistake this letter for a warning. Believe it or not, those dreams of the Dark One and our daughter…were some of the best I've ever had. Our daughter will grow to be a beautiful, strong, pure-hearted woman. _

_I leave you with a request. Take care of our daughter when I am gone. Teach her the ways of the world, but also that everything is not as it seems. Allow her to spread her wings when the time comes and discover her fate, her true love. I have every faith in your ability to grant her the love she needs and trust to make her own way. _

_You always told me to be brave. Now, do the same for our daughter. _

_I have a feeling we will meet again. Time will tell._

_I lo…_

Something dripped down over the parchment and Belle realized she had shed a tear while reading the heartfelt letter. She reached up to wipe it away. The letter ended there, with her mother beginning to pen the words _I love you. _Her brow knitted as she rubbed a finger over the unfinished declaration.

"Why did she stop?" Belle glanced up at her father to see that he was a bit lost in his own thoughts. His face was passive as he followed her finger to the broken line.

"That was the moment she went into labor," he said.

Belle gripped the parchment and witnessed its message with new meaning. This was the last letter her mother ever wrote, the one she was writing before her birth. And with Belle entering the world, her mother left it.

"I didn't find the letter until much later, after she was gone. Belle…as your father, I have always had a fear of losing you. You are the only thing I have left of her. And I'm sorry I said that she would have been disappointed in you. It was wrong."

Rumpel rolled his eyes to the ceiling, mocking her father for finally catching onto the same page. She lightly elbowed him and mouthed the word _mocking. _

"And my engagement? I plan to have it either way," she made it clear to him.

"I know. You have your mother's spirit as well as her gift for seeing the good in people," he commented. He sighed deeply and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. She had the sense that they were negotiating a business deal rather than bringing news of a joyful wedding. "Your mother wanted your happiness and nothing more. What kind of father am I if I deny you that? I may not be entirely pleased with it…but I won't stop you from getting married."

Belle's heart soared in her chest as her father more or less gave his blessing. Even more shocking, he offered his hand to Rumpel, a truce in their age-long battle. As Rumpel attempted to seize it, he pulled back slightly.

"You promise to take care of her? Make her happy?" Rumpelstiltskin made no disparaging comment nor did he look at her father like he was an idiot for suggesting anything different. Seriousness lined his face, his fingers curling slightly on the table.

"Yes. I give you my word," he said. Her father considered the weight of it and, to Belle's joy and relief, grasped Rumpelstiltskin's hand. The shake did not last long, but it was enough to instill hope in her heart. Her father leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"Congratulations," he softly bid her. There was even a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"And…you'll come to the wedding?"

It filled her with immense happiness to have her father accept her engagement to Rumpelstiltskin, but it would be something even more miraculous and wonderful if he joined them on her big day. She placed a hand on his arm, silently pleading him.

"Belle, I…" He looked troubled, torn between choosing what to say. The expectancy dipped a little as she feared her father would not agree to come, but then he smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Belle hugged him then and could swear her heart was on the verge of bursting.

…

It was drizzling lightly when they emerged together from her father's house; a sun shower that poured over the town and glistened like tears in the sun's rays. Their bellies were full of tea and biscuits since Belle had wanted to stay a little longer to catch up with her father. Now, she gladly took Rumpelstiltskin's arm as they headed for his car.

"Now, how do we go about finding your son?" That was the second item on their to-do list, after announcing to her father their plans of marriage. The first went rather well and so Belle had confidence the second would follow in the same path.

Rumpelstiltskin held her door open for her in a gentlemanly manner and she climbed in. He didn't respond until he started the car and began driving.

"Perhaps I could make a potion that would allow me…_us…_to cross the border and leave Storybrooke," he suggested. From the way he spilled it, she knew he had been thinking along these lines for a while. She took one of his hands and traced the ring he wore.

"It's a start," she agreed humbly.

She didn't miss the low sigh of relief that escaped his lips. But what other option did they have? According to him, his boy was beyond the border and they were trapped like rats in a cage in this town. He took his hand away, but only to take a curve in the road.

"Of course, I'm not too confident about pouring it on myself, crossing the line, and seeing what happens. Nor am I willing to risk you," he hinted. She followed his line of thinking as he offered her a remorseful look.

"You mean…a test subject?" She gaped openly at him as he did not deny the accusation. "What are you planning to do? Pull up on the street, tie someone up, bring them down to your basement, and run experiments on them like Frankenstein?"

He peered over at her with alarm.

"You've met Frankenstein?" She stared at him as if he were off his rocker. Did he not know that Frankenstein was a character in a book? Then again, everyone was a character in Storybrooke. "Belle, do you tour the world searching for monsters that might like to be your best friend?"

Belle ignored his rambles and shook her head musingly.

"Rumpel, you cannot sacrifice an innocent person by tossing them over the border," she lectured. He waved it off with a flick of his wrist.

"The worst that will happen is that our test subject will lose his or her memory of their true selves," he said. Belle leaned against the car door and eyed him incredulously.

"The worst that will happen? You'll be tearing someone else's family apart, in order to find your son—"

He abruptly braked on the side of the road, sending her body lurching forward. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and she imagined it might break. His face was stricken with grief as he leered at her from his seat.

"Yes, to find my son. I need to find my son and, quite frankly, I don't give a damn about the price it takes to accomplish it. This has haunted me for 300 years. Belle, _please," _he pleaded desperately.

She hated to see him this broken and distraught. Caressing a hand along his sorrowful face, she scurried to locate some middle ground. Some way of catering to his needs that did not land him in a jail cell.

"Could we at least discuss it with Emma and her family? See if they can help?" Perhaps they would be willing enough to aid Rumpelstiltskin.

She didn't like the way he averted his gaze. She knew he would not accept the idea with open arms—it might be a way to distract him or steer him away from this task he had chosen to find his son. But she laid a hand on the crook of his arm and waited for him to stop fuming.

Morosely, he continued driving along the road toward the heart of town. The station loomed up ahead and she snuck a glance at him to check if he would drive past. Miraculously, the car slowed in speed.

"Very well, dear. Let's pay a visit to the Charmings."

…

_**I was going to make this chapter longer, but in the end I decided this was good for now. Luckily, that means I have most of the next chapter planned and written out. **_

_**For now, I would like to thank everyone that has taken the time to review my last chapter—you guys are wonderful and I absolutely adore hearing every word in those reviews. A big thank-you goes out to Cannot Say, Dakota Kent, Romance and Musicals, Bluecanbegreen, Grace5231973, Yellowrose, LionshadeSC, IronicallyNormal, SweetyK, aradiaeva, thedoctorsgirl42, Jennifer, sbcarri, The Auburn Girl, cheesyteal'c, rene10, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	40. Chapter 40

_**A/N: Hello, dearies. I have a lovely chapter in store for you. Since there happens to be three weeks until the next episode, hopefully I'll have time to write up a couple more while we wait in anticipation. For now, enjoy this one. **_

"So, what is this about?"

Charming and Emma were unexpectedly visited at the station by Rumpelstiltskin and Belle. A suspicious matter, indeed.

_It seems the law enforcement in this town has become a family business, _Rumpel mused, keeping his distance. The way the pairs stood apart and facing each other with reasonable distance beyond arms' length, this felt more like a parley than a friendly request for help.

"Did someone rob you again?" It wouldn't be the first time. After the pregnant Ashley broke into his shop and Moe French invaded his house, he had made sure to change the locks and invest in a proper alarm system.

"No. I need your help," he tentatively admitted. Belle placed a hand on his arm for support. Either the Charmings were struck speechless by his admission or simply sensed he was not finished. "I need a way to cross the town border."

There it was. Plain and simple.

He cast his eyes to the worn gray floor as he awaited their response. Belle's breathing beside him was soft and hesitant. The time seemed to stretch for hours before there came a low, indignant _hmph. _

"I thought granting unholy requests was your expertise," Emma snarked. Charming held up a firm hand, instructing her to retreat from her cannons. Rumpel glowered at the haughty Sheriff, but chose not to add fuel to the fire. Arguing would not win her favor.

"Why?" It was the only word Charming formed, yet it demanded answers. The prince was not prepared to agree to a deal without knowledge, any more than he would charge into battle without a sword.

But Rumpel could not give him the satisfaction. No one except Belle knew the truth about his son. It was one of the last precious secrets he held close to his heart. What if…he bared his soul and they said no? What if word got out about Rumpelstiltskin's child and someone tried to use it against him?

Bae…

"He needs to find his son," came the revelation. His head snapped up to his fiancée, who was eyeing the Charmings with a mixture of pleading and confidence. He latched onto her shoulder.

"Belle," he hissed under his breath. This wasn't part of the plan—he was supposed to be the one handling this situation. She turned those cornflower eyes on him and gently laid a palm against his chest, directly over his heart. It pulsed against her hand, beating rapidly as a drum.

"Why are you afraid to tell them? They won't use it against you," she assured him, translating perfectly the anxiety and wariness lining his forehead. Her fingertips ran across his skin, smoothing out the knit in his brow.

"_You_ have a _son?"_ Charming exclaimed in sheer disbelief. He looked like he just witnessed pigs flying. Moron.

Emma's stony face was difficult to read; he wished he could glimpse into her soul and understand the sort of emotions waging war inside her. _You have a son, _he longed to point out. _You should understand my burden better than anyone. _

And ever so slightly, her lips drooped in pity.

"How can we help?" Determination reigned supreme in her green eyes. Rumpel's shoulders threatened to sag with relief, even though Charming still looked perplexed.

The words did not come easy—he knew this request was highly unlikely for them to accept, as he'd told Belle in the car. Belle made an encouraging gesture for him to go on, explain. Without her, this encounter would have lasted mere moments and he would leave empty-handed.

"There's something I need. I may be able to make a potion, but…" His words stalled, his tongue growing numb in its progress. He hesitated again. Belle pinched the bridge of her nose and released a sigh.

"He wants to have a test subject. To make sure the potion works properly," she filled in the blank.

Emma's body stiffened uncomfortably and Rumpel wondered if she regretted volunteering to help now. Life rushed back into Charming and he dared to take a step forward. He did not look pleased.

"You're asking us to allow you to use one of the townsfolk in an experiment that could potentially risk their lives?" Rumpel did not move a muscle to acknowledge or confirm Charming's perception. "Why should we agree with you? Why shouldn't we let you handle it yourself?"

The rejection was too much. All the emotions that had brewed inside him suddenly erupted, transpiring wildly across his face. He felt his thick shell become stripped, becoming vulnerable, the walls crumbling down at their feet. It had been years since he'd been reduced to begging, but now he found his legs stumbling forth.

"He's my son! I've been searching for him for 300 years! I created this curse in order to find him and correct the mistake I made. I never should have let him go, but I did. If I cross the border and it doesn't work, I'll forget my boy existed…again. Except this time, there'll be no getting the memory back. And all of this will have been for nothing!"

At the first sign of alarm on Emma's face, he realized how high his voice had risen in volume. He was nearly screaming. His lip trembled and his limbs felt too weak to carry him, if not for the cane. Warmth pooled under his eyelids and he blinked it away.

"Please," he whispered.

For a long moment, Emma and Charming exchanged unsure glances and allowed his rant to sink in. Emma planted her hands on her hips and studied her boots. Charming swiped a hand across his chin, obviously bearing an internal debate.

Surprisingly, he was the one to voice his thoughts.

"You must know I would never wish a child to be separated from his father. But if you test this on someone else and it doesn't work, you risk tearing someone else's family apart to make yours complete. The question I'm asking myself is this: is your son worth someone else's suffering?"

It wouldn't work. They wouldn't agree. One life did not compensate for another. The Charmings were much too heroic and good in their nature to allow him to take advantage of his choice of test subject. Miserably, he closed his eyes and figured he would have to resort to dragging an unwilling participant into his basement.

Archie? No, he rather liked the cricket. Grumpy? Possibly, except he would be faced with Snow White's wrath. The Blue Fairy—ooh, the floating jellyfish would work wonders—

"Use me," Belle chirped up from his side. He bolted out of his reverie and spun to her, his hands shaking as they gripped her by the forearms. Anything but that—he would not allow it.

"Belle, no," he protested sharply. But Belle was a strong soul; she did not accept his objection. Instead, she rose underneath his grasp and swelled with her own defiance and power. It was barely more than he could handle holding down.

"This is for your son. And if I can provide you a way to find him, then I will," she launched back. His hands fell away from her arms and she reached up to caress the side of his jaw. He held her hand there, savoring her warmth. "I want you to be happy."

He shook his head, ignoring the odd looks he was receiving from the Charmings. His heart was convulsing and cracking into shards. He could not stand losing Belle this late in the game, not after everything he had done to ensure her survival.

"Not like this! Belle, I will not use you as a sacrifice. I _will not _choose between the two of you! You cannot make me," he fired. He caught Belle's head and stroked her hair, his fingers pausing at the base of her neck to thrum with her heartbeat. Anyone but Belle.

"She won't have to," Emma interrupted. "We agree." Charming whipped his head around.

"I'm sorry…_we?" _Emma shot him a dark look before continuing. She held up a finger.

"On one condition: we choose the test subject," she negotiated.

Rumpel's skill with words and deals prevented him from agreeing to it automatically, even if his chest was heaving with heavy breaths at the knowledge that Belle was safe. Perhaps. He wrapped an arm around his fiancée's waist and guided her to his side.

"And who do you plan to pick?"

"We'll need some time to consider it," Emma said flatly, no exceptions allowed. Her eyes darted to Belle, who was secured against Rumpel's chest and leaning her head into the comfort of his shoulder. "It won't be your true love."

That was all he needed to hear in order to breathe much easier. As long as Belle was not included on the list of possible test subjects, then he would accept it. Any other person they chose among their little community would do. He'd be lying if he said his curiosity wasn't peaked.

"Deal." He extended his hand and Emma strode forward to clasp it. It was a short shake of the hand for she released his much too quickly. Was she afraid he would accidentally curse her?

"We'll let you know when we decide who it'll be," she declared with finality. He was dismissed, cut off from their inner workings. Charming's mouth was still hanging open in shock at his daughter's take-charge attitude. She learned it from the best, didn't she?

Belle shifted in his embrace to glance up at him wonderingly.

"If you want, we could always go to Granny's for lunch," she suggested with a hopeful smile. He was sure she was craving Granny's popular iced tea while his stomach demanded a delicious vanilla sundae. He deserved one after this.

He nodded and allowed her to hook her arm through his as they ventured to the door. The Charmings stared after them long after they disappeared through the entrance.

"Those two have an odd relationship," Charming murmured. It earned him an elbow to the gut.

…..

"So, basically, the gimp wants to mix a potion in his cauldron, pour it on one of us, toss us over the border, and see if we _don't _explode?" Grumpy gazed skeptically at the Charmings. "Why did you agree to this?"

The group of them were huddled in Mary Margaret's apartment—the Charmings, the dwarves, Red, Granny, Nova, and the Blue Fairy. And nobody appeared to be quite optimistic about the discussion topic. Nearly every head nodded in agreement with Grumpy's doubts.

"He's just trying to find his son," Emma argued from where she lingered between her parents. _I would do anything to find Henry. I can't blame him for this,_ she thought in the back of her mind. The kid in question was spending time with Grace and Jefferson.

"So? I found Nova after the curse broke and I didn't have to throw someone overboard to do it," Grumpy retorted gruffly. He smiled up at his fairy love. "I say we should let him take his chances. Worst case scenario: we'll be free of Rumpelstiltskin forever and have only a grumpy landowner to deal with."

The dwarfs cheered in salute of Grumpy's remark. Even the Blue Fairy was shrugging along with it, but Snow and Charming had explained to Emma that the Blue Fairy and Rumpel had never seen eye to eye in their land. Some things didn't change.

Charming tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully and nudged Emma's side.

"I'm taking that as a _no_ for volunteers," he muttered.

There was a reason Emma chose to gather only this specific handful of people—she didn't want to cause a panic throughout the town if the citizens knew Rumpelstiltskin was using people for experiments. Nor did she want to instill false hope if there was a way beyond the border, only to have it fail.

But did it mean that her parents had to be so…doubtful about it?

"We're here because of him," Red coolly reminded everyone from the table. Her glistening sultry eyes boldly met every pair of eyes in the room. "Why should we continue paying the price?" Another uproar of jeers from the dwarves.

"I'll toss him over without the potion," Granny declared. She began to take up her crossbow, but Red lowered it back down with a hand. Granny scowled, but resigned to laying the deadly weapon on the table for all to see. Emma was startled to picture Granny wielding the crossbow as quickly as knitting needles over yarn.

"Everyone, stop," Snow strode forward and held out her hands to signal silence. The room fell quiet, all ears perked to listen to what the fairest of them all had to say. "He's going to do this with or without our consent. Do you really want him picking one of you of his own accord? Possibly gagging you, running experiments while you're chained down in his basement…"

"Snow, you're not really encouraging them with that image," Charming whispered in her ear. Even he looked a little wary about the possibility of Rumpelstiltskin locking him in his basement. Snow blushed as she registered the horrified faces among her.

"Now, he's come to us asking for our help. Everyone deserves happiness, don't you agree?" She smiled politely at everyone, only to receive stubborn silence.

"Nope," Grumpy flatly responded.

He wasn't budging anytime soon and neither would any of the other dwarves. All Emma could replay in her head was that moment where Rumpelstiltskin's defenses broke away and his soul was bared to them and pleading. What kind of people were they if they didn't at least try to help? What message would that send: keeping father and son apart while their families had happily reunited?

"You didn't see his face when he was asking for our help. It hurts him that his son is somewhere beyond this town, somewhere he can't reach," she said.

"Oh, cry me a river," Grumpy shot back, unmoved.

Beside him, Doc stepped forward with his cap held to his chest and wise eyes peering over the half-moon rims of his spectacles. It seemed that Grumpy's advances had created some form of confidence among the others in the room.

"What good has he done any of us?" There was a murmur of agreement and Emma sensed it wouldn't be much longer before whatever small control the Charmings held over the group diminished. Not that any of them would be reckless enough to approach Rumpelstiltskin, but they would likely march out and have nothing to do with him.

"He…he helped me become Sheriff. He acted as Mary Margaret's lawyer when she was framed for Kathryn's murder," Emma struggled to come up with some list of good deeds Rumpelstiltskin had done. The list was regrettably very short.

"Emma, he started a fire, nearly killed the Mayor and you in that same fire, abandoned you in an elevator shaft, and you still don't know whether he had any part in Kathryn's abduction. Oh, yeah…and he created this curse," Charming ticked the multiple points off on his fingers. It discouraged any good word Emma had put forth. _Are you with the mob or do you want to prevent it?_

"He blew up one of our fairies," the Blue Fairy crossly retaliated. "Cinderella's, to be exact."

"Almost took her child, too. And he grumbles when I charge extra for pickles. As if that's my crime," Granny tossed her own two cents on the table for examination. That crossbow was a mere inch from her fingers.

"He made Snow turn evil; took away her love with that potion. I never want to see that woman again," Grumpy stated with a disgusted frown. Emma mouthed the word _evil _to her mother, but Snow simply played with a strand of her black hair. "Not to mention how he nearly ran the nuns out of town because of their rent. If he did, Nova and I wouldn't be together, would we?"

"He took my brother away from my family…and then he did the same with me," Charming dared to add. "King George wasn't exactly heavenly to live with."

The accusations piled up one by one until the room exploded with them. Everyone jumped up from their seats and started protesting about Rumpelstiltskin's dark deeds at the same time.

And then a sharp whistle broke through the air. A dozen pairs of eyes fell on the whistler, Snow White. She rubbed her damp fingers on her jeans before clearing her throat to speak.

"I agree, Rumpelstiltskin has done some terrible things during his time in our land," she started. Grumpy blanched in disbelief. He stumbled forward, a hand cupping his ear.

"Some?" Snow ignored his mockery.

"But….Red, he was the one who created your enchanted cloak that prevents you from changing into a werewolf. Where would you be without it? And he aided us against the Queen, made it so that she could not harm us in our kingdom. And Charming, if he hadn't taken you to King George, who's to say we would have crossed paths as we did? Or fell in love? Now, any volunteers?"

Despite the confident truth in Snow's words, the room echoed with silence. She could practically hear the crickets from Archie's office. Not one hand shot up to volunteer. Emma bobbed on her heels while trying to rid herself of the awkwardness. _Nice try,_ she thought miserably.

"Let's use Regina," Grumpy suggested. "If we're lucky, she'll vaporize. Rid us of two evils." Everyone inclined their heads in elated agreement and the murmurs began to rise again to a loud roar. But Emma decidedly waved it off with a hand, dispelling everyone's hopes.

"I don't want to chance her escaping. Not after what she nearly did to Belle. She's fine where she is," she declined. It was not up for debate.

"Then…who?" Red asked the question that had haunted their minds for the last half hour.

Uncertain glances were exchanged and Emma realized she was the one that each pair of eyes looked to for answers. They were pronouncing her in lead of this situation. Even her parents raised their eyebrows in question.

And suddenly Emma knew the answer.

"I think I know who I would choose. And I don't think any of you will disagree," she hinted. She turned to head for the apartment door, her keys bouncing in her pocket. Charming swiftly caught her elbow, halting her in her tracks.

"Emma, we deserve to know," he insisted. Emma bristled and pulled away from his grasp, aware of the multiple gazes burning into her body. What would her parents think of her choice? Surely, they would glimpse right through to her intentions.

After a drawn out battle of logic in her mind, Emma hesitantly turned on her heel to face her parents, the name of the subject poisoning her tongue.

"Sidney Glass."

There were sighs of relief and some calls of approval. The Queen's Mirror was an individual they perceived as dangerous and expendable among their community, no harm to their numbers. But Snow had grown to know her daughter as Mary Margaret and her brow furrowed curiously.

"Emma…this is about Jefferson, isn't it? Some form of personal revenge?" Emma dug the keys out of her pocket and clutched them tightly in her fist until it engraved a thin outline in her palm. Her muscles tensed in defense.

"Hell yes, this is about Jefferson. Thanks to Regina and her unrequited lover, Jefferson nearly died. So, I'm nominating Sidney. It's the least he can do for us. Unless anyone else wants to volunteer?" Not a single hand rose in the air. Every pair of eyes dropped from her face. "Didn't think so."

And without another word, Emma stomped out of the apartment. There was a heavy silence in her wake. However, it was quickly broken as Grumpy was the first one to regain the use of his voice.

"Well, everyone's thinking it; I'm just saying it. Better him than us," he shrugged. Snow gaped openly before rolling a newspaper in her hand and swatting Grumpy across the head with it. "Ow! What was that for?"

….

The following night was a dreadfully cold one. Belle shivered in her seat as Rumpelstiltskin parked the car alongside the road, a few feet from the town border. She peered out into the night, but it was hard to see through the frosted windows. Even though she had on a long-sleeved sweater, she rubbed her arms for warmth.

"Would you like my jacket?"

Rumpelstiltskin had noticed how the frigidness affected her and prepared to shrug off his suit jacket. Belle declined with a shake of her head. This was nothing compared to the haunting chill that invaded the Queen's dungeon. It had just been a while since she'd felt anything like it.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. He looked unsure, but didn't press the matter. Instead, he stepped out of the car and opened the door of the backseat to pull out their guest.

Sidney hadn't put up much of a fight as Emma enlisted his cooperation—it was clear to Belle that he did feel guilty for his part in Regina's plan. All he had to restrain him was a tight binding of rope around his wrists. Belle hurried out of the car to join their side as Rumpelstiltskin roughly shoved Sidney forward. His eyes boggled and a hand stretched out toward Belle to prevent her from getting close to them.

"Belle, stay in the car," he demanded. From his pocket, he drew out the colored vial with the potion sloshing inside. It had been a quick mixture and Belle could only hope that it worked. She didn't heed his words, but followed behind them to the line.

"We're doing this together," she insisted to his back. He glanced at her warily over his shoulder. His lips flattened together anxiously and she could have sworn he cursed under his breath.

"Stay behind me. Do not get too close. If anything happened to you…" He would never forgive himself, she knew that. Belle remained behind Sidney as the genie was positioned before the town border. Rumpelstiltskin uncapped the vial with his teeth and snatched Sidney's fedora off his head.

"M-Must we do this? I said I was s-sorry," Sidney stammered, more out of fear than the biting cold. The contents of the vial were emptied over the hat, the liquid soaking into the fabric. Belle began to feel remorse for Sidney's predicament…until she remembered he was the one who held the dagger to her throat and shot Jefferson.

"Oh, we must," Rumpelstiltskin declared, dropping the hat back onto Sidney's head. "That should allow you to keep your memories. Now…_go."_

He pointed toward the other side of the town line. Sidney crept forward under Rumpel's imposing stare until his feet came within an inch or so of the spray-painted orange line that divided their town from the rest of the world. Nervously, he froze.

"Do I have to go all the way over the line? Or can I simply stick my foot out and test it—" Rumpel rolled his eyes with impatience.

Striding forward, he placed a gloved hand on Sidney's back and shoved him forward, throwing him straight over the line. Belle gasped as a magical blue aura pulsed around Sidney's form, his body shaking violently as though it were seizing. She started forward in her curiosity, but Rumpel's arm restrained her, trapping her against his body.

And then the blue aura vanished.

Sidney stood still as a statue on the other side. His hat remained atop his head and both of them waited to see if the potion worked. Slowly, Sidney pivoted around to face them, his eyes glazed over. His lips moved soundlessly. Rumpel studied him critically.

"What's your name?" Rumpel asked flatly.

It was a test, one that Belle weaved her fingers together for and hoped he passed. Not so much for the preservation of Sidney's memories, but the meltdown that would result if it failed. It would mean Rumpel would have to go back to the drawing board.

Sidney lumbered forward, back over the line. He gazed about as though trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"My name…" He mumbled almost incoherently. Like a rubber band, his state of mind snapped back into place. The glazed impression escaped his eyes, leaving behind a speculative air of intelligence. "You know my name. It's Sidney Glass. Star reporter of _The Daily Mirror?"_

Sidney was blinking at them as if_ they_ were the ones with the memory problem. A feeling of dread rose in Belle's chest and she furtively glanced up at Rumpel. His face was stony and unreadable. _It didn't work, _she realized with a heavy heart and lightly rested her head on his shoulder comfortingly.

"And you're Mr. Gold, of course," he continued, flashing a skittish grin at what he believed was simply Storybrooke's pawnbroker. And then his attention slid to Belle, absent of recognition. "But I've never met this lovely woman before. Is she related to you?"

Rumpel's fingers curled tightly over the head of his cane. He released a ragged breath.

"We'll need another test subject."

….

_**Poor Rumpelstiltskin, hm? But don't worry—good things come to those who wait. There have been a lot of ideas circling my mind for how this story will turn out and I think I have some nice surprises in store for you. And of course plenty of Rumbelle. **_

_**For those of you who got to watch the latest episode, how did you like it? **_

_**And I can never forget to thank all those lovely people that have taken the time to review! I loved every single word I received—it certainly puts a smile on my face to see so many reviews in my inbox. **_

_**A big thank-you goes out to Cannot Say (it is my honor to thank you—glad you love the story), Grace5231973, discotimelord, sbcarri, Bluecanbegreen, Jennifer, Romance and Musicals, LionshadeSC, White Belt Writer, Quoth the Raven, SwanQueen4055, cheesyteal'c, and rene10. **_

_**Up to Chapter 40 now and 450 reviews, everyone! Shall we celebrate? *brings out balloons and drinks***_


	41. Chapter 41

_**A/N: Hello, my lovely readers out there! Here is a wonderfully long chapter for you to enjoy. Needless to say, the news of these upcoming episodes has sparked my inspiration even more for this story. Who knows what will happen? Besides me, of course! (-;**_

He had secluded himself in the basement for the better part of the day. At first, she used her alone time to read peacefully in the library, losing herself in the pages of a book she randomly selected from the shelf. But when dinner approached and there was no sign of him, she decided it was time to check on him.

Belle quietly descended the stairs into the basement—she knew he didn't like to be rudely disturbed while he was working. She had only been down there once and her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. The musty stench did not agree with her nose and a sneeze threatened to overwhelm her.

He loomed over a table crowded with odd vials and ingredients, his back facing her. Even from this distance, she could tell it wasn't going well at all. His muscles rippled with tension, his shoulders hunched forward. Every moment or so, he would raise a colored vial to the milky light, only to slam it down again.

Tentatively, she drew close and ran her palms along his back. Under her fingertips he stiffened and she could feel the knots embedded near his shoulders. He sucked in a breath, but did not turn.

"Any progress?" Belle tried to convey as much hope as she could. This was already a fragile situation for him and she knew the strain increased by the hour. Forlornly, he hung his head, his hair creating a curtain around his face.

"Very little," he managed through his teeth. She tried rubbing his shoulders to soothe away the stress, but it was not enough to calm him. "I've never created a potion such as this before. Each time I try, something goes wrong. It's…never…right," he growled.

Her hands paused in rubbing his skin, waiting to see what he would do. His hands gripped the edges of the worktable until the knuckles cracked. Abruptly, his frustration got the better of him and he thrust the table forward. The vials rocked unsteadily.

"Relax," she chided softly, only to have him whirl on her unexpectedly. She reeled her hands away as his expression darkened. It reminded her of the mystical creature he had once been in their world.

"_Relax?_ My boy is somewhere out there, I'm unable to perfect the potion needed to reach him, and your advice is to _relax?_ Clearly, you don't grasp the severity of this situation, Belle," he roared, but she did not flinch.

Rumpel angrily knocked his knee into the table and a few of the vials toppled. His breathing came in quick pants and she chose to silently wait until he regained his composure. Perhaps _relax _had been the wrong word to use. Eventually, his breath returned to a normal pace.

"Sorry," he whispered huskily. Despite what he thought, she did not hold his anger against him. After all, look how far he had come. 300 years was not exactly a blink of an eye in measurement of time.

"I understand your frustration. It's a terrible thing to not be with the ones you love," she mused, her mind back-tracking to the time she spent in the Queen's castle. It had been such a lonely year in that cell. Gently, she brushed her fingers along his arm and sighed in relief when he did not recoil. "But I also know you are brilliant when it comes to magic. You'll figure it out. You'll do it, I know you will."

She dared to press a kiss to the back of his neck and buried her head between his shoulder blades.

Ever so carefully so as not to startle her, he shifted around until he was facing her once more. This time, his behavior was noticeably gentle as he encircled his arms around her waist. One of his hands cupped her chin and lifted it, their eyes meeting. Uncertainty and raw vulnerability dominated his irises.

"Why have you never given up on me?" She suspected she was the only constant person in his life who never did. It both amazed her and saddened her that she was such a vital role in his well-being.

She leaned her head further into his palm. A smile teased her lips—it secretly amused her to see him struggle to understand the selfless love she held in her heart for him. Such purity was always a mystery.

"You know, for someone who has walked the world for 300 years and has experienced more of it than anyone else, you do ask such obvious questions," she giggled. He tilted his head inquisitively. "Don't you realize by now that I will never stop fighting for you? It's because I love you…because everyone needs something worth fighting for…and because I know you are capable of great things, Rumpelstiltskin. Just look at this curse you've fashioned."

She pulled away to gesture her arms to the room in which they were standing. This world was not their own, yet he made it possible to bring them here. If not, would they be standing in his Dark Castle together? Or perhaps she would still be locked away in the Queen's castle, doomed to die while he was convinced that fate had already befallen her.

He glanced about the room as if seeing it for the first time. She could've sworn she saw a glimmer of hope shine in his eyes.

"Now, let me rub your shoulders, will you? Those knots will be worse than the ones in the laces of those boots you always wore," she teased him, urging him to turn around. A light smirk slid over his lips as he bent over the table. Well, this would not do at all. "Take off your shirt."

"What?" He glanced at her over his shoulder, baffled by her abrupt demand. She rolled her eyes to the gray ceiling.

"Well, if I'm going to reach the knots and work them out, you'll need to take off your shirt," she explained. She pinched the fabric for added emphasis.

Hesitantly, he debated over it before popping the buttons one by one. He laid the shirt on the table, the bareness of his back exposed to her. It was steady and lean, nothing to be ashamed of.

"Honestly, you act like I've never seen your bare skin before," she taunted.

In truth, his shyness was rather appealing. She nearly caught a glimpse of the man he might have been before becoming the Dark One—not a trembling coward as he believed, but a gentle kind man who would never find reason to raise his hand to another. This modesty was sort of…cute.

And then she went to work.

Kneading her thumbs along his spine, she attempted to rub out the terrible knots that were hard lumps under her fingers. How did he ever manage to loosen up before they were reunited? Or did he simply walk about town enduring the discomfort?

"Ooh…and people say _I_ have the magic touch," he moaned pleasurably. "Have you ever considered a profession as a masseuse?" She couldn't help but smile at the flattery.

As she moved the heels of her palms up and down his back, a deep groan of pleasure issued from his throat. He tried to arch his back to allow her further access and she found herself nearly on top of him as she leaned over to reach the other side of his neck. Along the cords, dipping along his curves, learning the perfect spots to press that would make him moan…

Somehow, her concentration for merely massaging him waned after a few minutes. Her fingers traced the curve of his spine. Then her hands splayed across his skin to absorb his warmth. Sensing that her part was over, he straightened up and guided her into his arms, flush against his chest.

Belle leaned forward and pressed her lips to his bare chest. She could feel his heartbeat fluttering against his skin. His hand gently lifted her chin until all she could see before her was a seductive shade of chocolate brown. His mouth descended ever so slowly, giving her a chance to retreat.

But instead, she met him halfway, their lips coming together as softly as the first time in his castle. The kiss was short, but it left both of them content.

The spell lessened a bit as the seconds ticked by; not quite breaking, just…slumbering. His skin was starting to cool from the draftiness of the basement. She reached over him and retrieved his shirt, helping him to slide it on.

"What will you do?" She gestured to the ancient colored vials. His face pinched in a frown. His fingers mindlessly worked the buttons of his shirt as he shrugged.

"I suppose I'll do what I always do when an answer eludes me. Return to the wheel," he replied, looking to the old spinning wheel that rested comfortably in a corner of the basement. As he had done countless times, he perched on the rickety stool and released a deep breath before starting the familiar task of transforming straw into gold.

Belle listened to the creaking of the wheel for a moment. She was aware of his eyes on her skin, partially hidden by the spokes of the wheel.

"Do you mind if I…?" She motioned her hand to an extra stool close by.

The wheel paused abruptly and she wondered if perhaps this was one aspect of his world he did not want to share willingly. Rumpelstiltskin never did like to be disturbed when he was spinning.

But the uncertainty in his face softened.

"No…no, of course not. Stay as long as you like."

Slowly, the wheel started up again as Belle drew up the stool and lowered her body onto it. It shook precariously, but held her weight. The only sound between them was the calm creak of the wheel, rotating endlessly round and round. Belle's eyelids closed and she listened to the welcome sound she had grown to love so long ago. It reminded her of the castle, of the days she spent in the dining hall cleaning.

It was so peaceful…

"I missed this," she softly admitted, keeping her eyes closed. She wasn't sure if he heard. There was a small huff of a breath and she pictured the smirk on his lips. The wheel continued on its way, never stopping in its soothing melody.

"As did I."

…

It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working?

He had mixed hundreds of samples of the potion only to have them all bubble or explode or dry up right under his nose. It was always wrong! He had trusted his instincts of all things magical; he had pored through the ancient tomes that had crossed over from their land. For long hours he had stayed in the basement until even Belle had given up and gone to bed, eyes tired from endless reading in poor light.

But still he stayed…and pored…and fumed.

Hunched over the worktable, he glared at the many colored vials, most now caked with the ugly grime that resulted from a failed potion. Those vials should have cracked from the weight of his stare. All of Belle's hard work unraveled as his muscles tightened into piano wire again. A terrible headache pounded behind his eyes, but he could not relent. Not now.

He had to find the answer.

If he called it quits, stopped searching, it would mean giving up on Bae. And that was something he would never do. _It's like I told him three days before his fourteenth birthday, _he thought darkly. _I'll find a way. _

There was some missing ingredient, some key to making this potion work. But, what? What could it possibly be?

He collapsed into a nearby chair and sunk his head into his hands, pondering. If he stepped over that line without this potion, he would forget everything. Supposedly, there was no cure for the memory loss—all that remained was the false Storybrooke identity. _And so a nightmare becomes a reality, _he mused.

And Regina had never granted Mr. Gold a son. Why should she when she never realized one existed in the first place? Even if she did, she would never be that generous. Rumpelstiltskin as everyone knew him would be shed, lost forever. And his son would truly be alone.

_It'd be just my luck, wouldn't it? _He wallowed in his self-pity, his fingers clinging to his gray-streaked hair. _I bet if Snow White accidentally fell over the border, all Charming would need is True Love's Kiss and—_

Wait.

That was it!

Not True Love's Kiss, necessarily, but certainly true love itself. The mixture he had concocted before had regrettably been a rushed one, due to his haste in finding Bae. And he had neglected to consider the ingredient of true love. The pieces began to fall into place; something like hope beat hard in his chest as he rose to his feet.

Yes, it was beginning to make sense. After Sneezy was chosen to test out the border, his memory had been lost. Everyone had tried every possible solution they could think of short of asking Rumpelstiltskin for a potion. Yet there was no conceivable answer.

But there was one factor the good townspeople had forgotten to take into notice. Sneezy was a dwarf. Dwarves didn't have the blessed benefit of true love, with Grumpy being the exception. There would be no cure. But if true love were included in a potion, perhaps…perhaps…

What a fool he was for not thinking of it earlier! It made him giddy as a child on Christmas Eve.

Dashing up the basement stairs, his feet carried him straight to the bedroom he shared with Belle. It was late in the night, so she was sleeping soundly between the sheets. A book bounced on her chest as she breathed and he lightly pried it away, setting it on the bedside table.

Gently, he knelt beside her sleeping form and ignored the discomfort spiraling along his leg. For a moment, he listened to the peaceful symphony of her snoozing, in and out, in and out. He hoped he would not wake her. His fingers caressed her cheek, stroking her silky hair as it cascaded across the pillow.

And then he forcibly plucked a fine thread of hair from her head.

It was not as brutal as it had been with Snow White, but still he tensed. If there was any change in her breathing, his ears didn't detect it. Then, Belle released a low moan. He anticipated the opening of her eyes, but all she did was stretch like a cat across his side of the bed.

Holding his breath, he rose from the floor. He twiddled the wisp of hair between his fingers as he turned to leave. A cool hand encircled his wrist, stalling him in place.

"Rum…pel?" Belle mewed, delicate as a dream. She lifted up on her elbow, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with back of her free hand. She was stuck in a half-awake state of mind. Slowly, he faced her and drew the covers around her torso.

"Yes, it's just me, dearie. Go back to sleep," he instructed in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

Once more he bent down to her level, but this time he placed a kiss on the crown of her head. She seemed compliant enough when she laid her head back on the pillow. When he tried to get up, however, she stubbornly clutched his sleeve.

"Come to bed, sweetheart," she dreamily pleaded. If only she realized how close he was to the answer.

Regrettably, he tugged his sleeve from her grasp and retreated from the bed. She would never know how much he wanted to climb into bed beside her and hold her until both of them fell asleep. But his legs disobeyed. This had to be done tonight.

"I will," he promised quietly, purposely leaving his intended timeframe vague. "Soon."

She was asleep by the time he stepped over the threshold into the hallway, her rhythmic sighs a lullaby carrying him down to the cold, lonely basement.

….

In the basement once more, Rumpelstiltskin hastily prepared a new vial on the worktable. This was his last good one, so he wholly intended not to screw it up. _The 13__th__ time's the charm, right? _He thought cynically. Mixing the ingredients together, he winced as he waited for the solution to explode or bubble.

It did neither.

So far so good.

This time, he added one extra detail. He sprinkled Belle's hair into the vial. Reaching a hand to his head, he tore a few of his own hairs out and added those on top of Belle's. As soon as the individual hairs touched, there was a magnificent flash of violet light inside the vial. It wasn't as pure or bright as the hairs belonging to the Charmings, but it was true love nonetheless.

One last time, he stirred the potion and then devoured his creation with his eyes. No explosions, no bubbling, no oddities to speak of. The liquid shimmered as it rocked inside the vial.

One step closer. Oh, he was nearly there. Perhaps it was his exhaustion, but he had the urge to giggle like his old self. Now all that was left was to test it out and hope for the best.

…..

Some things never changed.

Mikael had never stopped drinking, for instance, no matter what world they were in. Even when he witnessed his drinking partners being brutally cut down by the Dark One in that tavern…Still, he returned to the drink as a man would turn to his lover in the night.

It didn't mean that he had forgotten the Dark One's words upon being allowed to live. And the only reason he'd been spared was because of that maiden whose virtue he nearly plundered. He had used up all his excuses long ago—_I was drunk, it seemed like a good idea at the time—_until even he had to admit his fault.

But this curse…whatever the hell it was, it had erased his true memories from his mind, replaced his being with one that was no better. A common drunkard whose business took place on the streets, stealing the wives of other men, and forcing himself upon young ladies that did not care for it.

Oh, God…he had come within inches of making the same mistake, hadn't he?

Despite the high level of alcohol in his system and the attack from behind, he remembered it clearly the next morning in a jail cell. It had been the same girl from the tavern—the Dark One's mistress. Of course, they hadn't been quite themselves, but in the eyes of the Dark One, that detail was irrelevant.

Mikael lingered on the corner of the street, a block from the pawnshop. His glazed blue eyes scanned the deserted street, as though he expected the beast to appear right before his eyes.

Ever since the curse broke, he could feel it—a thin trickle of icy fear always sliding down his neck. The breath of Death itself while the roughness of a pen scratching across a death certificate haunted his ears. Time was not on his side.

He knew there was no forgiveness for him, not after the suffering he had caused. He knew he had to pay his price. So with not-so-sturdy legs and the prickling of fine hairs on his neck, he frequented that corner, waiting. Not daring to pretend to be bold enough to march through that shop.

It would be tonight. Somehow, by some terrifying sense of intuition, he knew.

The time ticked on to the early hours of the morning. The sky was one thick sheet of black above his head, with no glow of stars to guide him. His skin iced over from the merciless wind. It seemed to tighten over his bones, tough and elastic until perhaps he would be nothing but a walking skeleton.

And then he heard it.

It came from behind him, drifting on the wind—a hollow, formidable _tap-tap-tap. _It echoed inside his mind, pounding in time with his heart. _Tap-tap-tap…_growing louder and closer with every second.

There was only one person in this town that regularly used a cane, for whatever purpose. That is what he recognized the sound to be after a moment's pause. _Tap-tap-tap…_

He was coming. It was tonight.

Every shred of submission to paying his price seemed to evaporate as his gaze glued to the shadows looming across the sidewalk. He was wrong; he couldn't do this. He could not face the Dark One. Admitting to a mistake and paying the price for it were two different things. And he'd be lying if he claimed he wasn't afraid.

So he did the most foolish thing he could ever do: he turned and ran.

Or would have run had he not collided into the chest of the person standing directly behind him.

"Leaving so soon?" Stumbling back, he inevitably locked eyes with the menacing ones of the fearsome beast. Gone were the snake-like amber orbs and crocodile skin, but this ordinary business-dressed man managed to instill fear in him all the same.

"You," Mikael whispered, almost inaudible against the wind. But he knew the Dark One had heard perfectly as those unfriendly lips curved in delight. Should he fall to his knees and beg for life? Or was it far too late?

"Always nice to make an impression," he drawled. Surprisingly, the accent was not the slithery hiss he had been expecting. Without warning, that cane swung upward and knocked into Mikael's temple, rendering him unconscious.

….

For the second time that week, Rumpelstiltskin parked his car just shy of the border of Storybrooke. This time, however, he was alone except for his test subject crumpled in the backseat. Belle deserved her sleep—she did not need to see this. This would not be pretty.

Just as with the absent-minded Sidney Glass, Rumpel dragged the subject out of the backseat. Unfortunately, he had never made a note of learning the man's name and now he had no desire to know it. The only thing he could possibly be now was a lab rat running a maze. _For your sake, let's hope you find the cheese. _

The man groaned as his body collapsed onto the cold gravel. A tell-tale lump had swelled over his temple. For a silent moment, Rumpel observed his pet rat as it roiled and squirmed on the ground. The disgusting worm. And then his foot launched into his stomach, eliciting a cry of agony.

"That is for daring to even look her way, you marauding cur," he spat over the fetal-curled body. Oh, but it was far from the last bit of agony he would receive.

Violently, Rumpel wrapped his fingers around a fistful of sandy blonde hair and dragged him to his feet. He thrust him against the hood of the car. It secretly amused him to watch this puny drunkard quiver in his boots.

"P-Please! I'm s-so sorry!" The man held his hands up to his face in defense, as if anticipating another blow. "What are you going to do to me?" _Wouldn't you like to know, _Rumpel snidely thought as he grimaced at the trembling figure.

From his pocket he revealed the small vial. The liquid seemed to glow in the palm of his hand. To think that this could very well be the answer to the problem that had haunted him for centuries. Uncapping it, he scanned the man's body for anything that could be used as a talisman.

Stepping forward, his hands scrambled over the man's body, searching, searching…A-ha!

Inside his shirt pocket was a small photograph of a young woman that he did not recognize. That didn't matter, though, because the photo surely held some value for this weasel if he was still carrying it. As long as it was on his person, it would work.

"And who is she, if I may ask?"

Rumpel flicked the photo around in his fingers to let his subject see it. Through the darkness he squinted and then his eyes widened in fear. He swallowed a lump in his throat and he tried to grab the photo away, but Rumpel purposely pulled it out of his reach.

"You may not," the man retorted boldly. Something in Rumpel's eyes must have startled him, for the man scurried backwards against the hood of the car. "I mean…it's my wife. _Was_ my wife. She…never made it to the time of the curse."

Rumpel's fingers crumpled the edges of the photo as his grip tightened. It made the Lab Rat's eyes boggle out of his skull. If this man was expecting sympathy on account of his wife's death, he was barking up the wrong tree entirely.

"Is that why you resorted to mindless drinking? Frequenting the taverns among rowdy rodents quite like you? Forcing yourself onto innocent maidens without a care as to who they may belong to? I.e. _not yours_."

The man choked back a small cry with every step Rumpel took. Any minute now and he would likely fall to his knees. Begging never worked for Rumpelstiltskin. Especially if it made his shoes dirty.

"I swear, she was the first! I drank too much that night; twice my usual limit. Those other men put the idea in my head—I just went along with it. You've no idea how guilty I was the next morning," he exclaimed, practically in one breath. How guilty could he have been when he was blessedly breathing instead of six feet under the ground?

Rumpel eyed him like a bug that desperately needed squashing.

"Perhaps tonight you'll redeem yourself," he spat. _I highly doubt it, _he added in his mind. In one rapid motion, he poured the contents of the vial over the photo, drenching it in the potion.

"No!" His test subject shrieked and darted for the photo. Rumpel dodged him easily. Swiftly raising his cane, he thrust the end into the man's chest, pinning him to the car. Lab Rat's hands grabbed onto the cane, but he didn't put up much of a fight. "What have you done? That photo is my dearest possession."

_Exactly, _Rumpel thought. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the man's ignorance. He lowered his cane to wave the photo dry. Sweeping toward his subject, he tucked the picture back into his front pocket. It was time for the experiment.

"What have I done? I've just given you your ticket to freedom, dearie," he lilted. He pointed to the town's border, the orange line almost luminescent in the moonlight. "Now, _walk." _His tone implied exactly what would happen if he didn't follow orders.

Cautiously, Lab Rat leaned off the hood. His feet scuffled one by one over the cold cement while Rumpel's eyes burned into his back with the rage of a torch. Only once did he glance over his shoulder, to which Rumpel gestured for him to keep moving.

"I love you," he whispered a silent prayer to his deceased wife. He clenched his eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, he took the final steps over the line.

As with Sidney Glass, a glimmering blue aura pulsed around the test subject's body. Though, this one seemed shorter in duration. In a matter of seconds, his test subject had stopped shaking in place and stood with a glazed look in his eye. It was quite like the look a drunk would have after one too many beers.

Rumpel's cane tapped on the ground, the hollow sound echoing in the night as he approached the town line. Just a few feet closer, but not enough to be in danger of falling over it. His test subject studied him curiously—Rumpel was almost afraid this would prove to be another failed attempt.

_We shall see, _he vowed silently.

"What is my name?"

It was the only surefire way to tell if this man's memories were intact. There were only two options to this multiple-choice question. For his sake, Rumpel expected him to choose the right one. The man's mouth bobbed like a fish's out of water.

"You…you're…" Rumpel huffed impatiently. A stroke of awareness bounced back into his subject's eyes and he stumbled across the line once more. "R-Rumpelstiltskin," he stuttered with all the fear of one who knew the power he possessed.

A slow smile crawled along Rumpel's lips. _Finally. _

"Thank you so very much for your help," he hissed in dismissal.

Before the man could make a move, however, Rumpel flicked his wrist. A cloud of majestic purple smoke brewed around his subject's body, eclipsing him from view. _That is for even daring to lay a finger on my Belle, _he thought bitterly.

The thick flume of smoke parted to reveal not a man, but a…a frog. Rumpel stared oddly at his commanding hand. He had requested a snail. Where in blazes did the frog come from? It croaked and hopped uncertainly across the road. Maybe it would get eaten by something far bigger.

Rumpel could not stop eyeing his hand. Not once had his magic failed him. Why now? Unless…no. It couldn't be.

Concentrating on an inky spot in the road, he pictured a snail forming there. A tiny snail. A small cloud of smoke appeared again, except this time it held a slug. Closer, but still no cigar. All of a sudden, Rumpel felt more drained of energy than he usually did when using magic. What was wrong with him?

But the answer was impossible to ignore.

Hadn't he felt more tired than usual when conducting magic these past few days? Where he could once conjure an object with ease, it now came with strain. Hadn't the potion been a failure the first time and the times after that before he recalled the power of true love?

Ironically, it was the exact source of his trouble now. His mind flashed back to that moment where he had shared true love's kiss with Belle in the heart of Regina's vault. The kiss that ultimately broke the curse that had consumed him for centuries. There was no denying it.

His powers were fading.

…

Belle awoke with the dawn. The slants of sunshine pleasantly warmed her face through the window as she stirred. Peacefully, she smiled and stretched to full-length across the bed. She patted the spot beside her, only to find it disappointingly empty.

How odd.

Hadn't Rumpel gone to bed at all last night? Why, there weren't even any hints of his body having been there—no impressions of his head in the pillow, no wrinkled sheets, no warmth seeping up from the mattress. Her skin certainly lacked his touch.

Oh, that silly man would work himself to death one of these days. It almost made her feel guilty that she had slept extraordinarily well. Though, she kept having this peculiar dream in which Rumpel had given her a haircut.

Down to the kitchen she hurried, still clad in her breezy nightgown. Her feet intended to carry her to the basement when she heard the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. The aroma of bacon hooked her nose and she found herself floating toward it.

Rumpel was awake and fixing breakfast. All she could see of him was his rigid back, but she stifled a cry of sympathy. She noticed how tense his muscles were underneath his dress shirt, revealing how much stress he bore after she fell asleep.

Was it a good thing or a bad one that he wasn't in the basement? She supposed she'd find out.

"Morning," she cheerfully greeted. Rumpel whirled around with the greasy spatula in hand. His face twisted in perplexity. Nothing usually surpassed his notice—it worried her. Judging by the haziness in his brown eyes, his mind was distracted.

At least, that's all she prayed it was; distraction. A quiver of apprehension iced over her veins.

"Is everything alright?" She tilted her head as she scrutinized him.

There was something he desperately wanted to tell her—she knew by the way he repeatedly licked his lips. The intensity of his gaze rooted her feet to the kitchen floor. Behind him, the bacon began to burn, but neither of them paid any attention.

Oh, why was he staring at her like that? Should she try using his name? She wished he would say something.

"I did it," he whispered, almost too low to hear.

Belle's heart hammered inside her chest as she replayed the words she thought he'd said. Over and over in her mind, somehow unable to grasp the wonder of its meaning. Her mouth fell open in a most un-lady-like way. Rumpel's lips flattened anxiously as he awaited her response.

"You…did it? _It _it?" There was only one possible event he could be talking about. It had worked. He had done it!

There was a sharp click as Rumpel reached behind him and turned the stove off, the bacon lost. He approached her and ran his hands up and down her bare arms. It took her a second to realize he was repeating the words again: _I did it. _Joy soared through every cell of her being; happiness that his centuries-long endeavor was reaching its end.

"Why, this means…you can find your son! You'll have family again," she exclaimed. Her voice betrayed her exuberant emotions. Before she knew it, she had flung her arms around his neck and proudly embraced him.

The impact of her body against his caused him to stumble back a step. He seemed stunned for a moment, resting stiffly in her arms. Then his hands encircled her waist and he returned the warm embrace. Wetness seeped into her hair and she realized he was crying.

"I'll have my son back. My Bae," he murmured roughly into her ear.

Belle threaded her fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his neck. She squeezed him tightly for added comfort and pulled back. Just enough to gaze deeply into his eyes. Her brow furrowed as she traced a hand along the curve of his jaw.

If this was meant to be good news, why did he appear so grim?

"What's wrong? You should be happy." Belle searched his eyes for answers, but he slipped away from her arms. Limping to the table, his hand brushed over a row of small colored vials. Filled with the necessary potion, she had no doubt.

"Last night, I made a large batch of the potion once I realized it had worked. But…" His words trailed off unsteadily. She crossed her arms and studied him curiously. She had yet to hear any hint of bad news in this situation. What was it he was afraid to tell her?

Turning, he extended his palm toward a chair in the corner. His fingers curled into hooks and lines of concentration marred his forehead. Belle patiently waited for the chair to slide across the floor, perhaps to offer her a seat.

It never moved.

The chair gradually wobbled in place, rattling against the wall with a sudden surge of energy. Begrudgingly, it scraped an inch or two, no more. She glanced back at Rumpel with foreboding. A trickle of sweat skated down his cheek, indicating how hard he was trying.

"You're losing your powers," she pieced together. With an angry groan, his hand shot back down to his side. The chair grew still. Despair etched its way across his brow. It colored his irises darker than ever.

"The curse has been inside of me for 300 years. I suppose it took some time to wear off," he replied unhappily. Belle carefully glided to his side and touched his hand. It was trembling and terribly tense.

"Don't you see? You are becoming human. You've already made the potion and you just told me it works," she pointed out. He looked to the vials bitterly. She squeezed his hand. "You'll find Bae. What else do you need magic for? All you need is _us_. And this will be good for your son. When you find him, you won't be that cursed man anymore; you'll be his father. He'll be happy."

She believed every word with every beat of her heart. But he did not look so certain. Regret reigned dominant over his angled features.

"Will he?"

The sorrow surrounding him was almost too much for Belle to bear. She could see he was beginning to have his doubts, now that his aspirations were set to become reality. Tenderly, she cupped his cheek and urged him to look directly into her eyes.

"Yes, he will. Have faith, Rumpelstiltskin. You'll find your happy ending. You, Bae…me."

That last note was a hopeful one. She had thought long and hard before falling asleep last night. More than anything, she would like to have Bae's approval of her entrance into their family. Rumpel needed his son more than he needed her.

He released a solemn sigh and delved his fingers into her hair. With or without power coursing through his veins, there would always be something enchanting in the subtle ways he touched her.

"You would truly make a wonderful mother for Bae," he said, the back of his hand caressing her cheek. She leaned her head into it and hoped that what he said was true. His eyes drifted closed and pain transpired greatly across his face. "Oh, Belle, I haven't felt this weak since—"

Immediately, she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his complaint.

"Remember our ultimatum," she chided. She feigned a stern glower, but it broke much too easily when his lips poised to kiss her finger.

"If I recall, you stated that I could not refer to myself as a monster. You never specified against calling myself a coward." As he hung his head, Belle hunched forward to peer up at him under the wisps of his hair. There would be no escaping.

"I also recall saying that self-ridiculing wasn't healthy," she countered. Her hands latched onto his shoulders. "You are not a monster, nor are you a coward. You have courage enough to seek out your son in an unfamiliar world. And you have done one of the bravest things I have ever known: you were strong enough to love me. You loved me enough to save me from Regina. For that, I am forever grateful."

He clucked his tongue, objecting.

"Belle, if either of us should be in debt, it should be me. You were the one who saved me. Otherwise, I'd still be trapped under that curse. I might not be half as sane as I am now and—"

Belle hushed him softly as she nestled further into the security of his embrace. She offered him an encouraging smile, a ray of sunshine to cheer his mood.

"We saved each other," she rightly declared. A hint of a smile tugged the corners of his lips, though it did not fully form. One of his hands moved to the small of her back, holding her.

It was then that she remembered she was still dressed in only her thin nightgown. He must have noticed it, too, for his attention forcibly strayed to the vials, his grasp releasing her. The blush was not as fierce as it might have been some time ago—she was to be his wife, after all. His modesty always charmed her.

"You should probably change clothes….and pack a bag." She was halfway to the hall before his words caught up with her. She eyed him and then the colored vials inches from his fingers. Hope playfully nudged her brain.

"Pack a bag?" He gazed at her as though it should be the most obvious feat in the world. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall, interpreting that she must be confused about their early departure. "You…you're asking me to come with you? But, this is your journey."

A hand flew to her throat; she could feel her pulse thrumming beneath the delicate skin encasing it. Here she assumed he would venture off alone and she would dutifully wait for him. Despite their vow, she thought that she would only help him complete the necessary tasks to find Bae, but to cross the border with him…

"You said we would do this together, dearie," he mimicked her own words from when he had stubbornly resided in bed the day they broke the engagement news to her father. Carefully, he lifted one of the vials and sloshed the potion around. "I've made more than enough for the two of us to cross. I used to believe this was my journey. But, Belle, you have been here with me. If not for you, I might not be as close as I am. And for that, I do want you to come with me. That is…if you wish it?"

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Did he think she would say no? Resolve to stay trapped here in Storybrooke with a community of people she still did not know that very well? Besides, she had always wanted a true adventure.

"I'd be happy to come with you," she assured him with a genuine smile. He gladly returned it.

Light on her feet from the news, Belle swiftly spun and headed for the stairs, already making a checklist in her mind of all the things she would need to pack for their trip. Of course, she would have to pick out a book in the library, too.

Rumpel watched her hurry off with a swelling heart, relieved that she would be with him the entire way. And then he proceeded to scrape the burned bacon into the trash.

He closed his eyes and pictured his son's face. It saddened him to realize it had faded in clarity over the centuries. Small details—the ringing of his laughter, the exact shade of his eyes, the dimples that shone in his cheeks whenever he was truly happy—were becoming harder to remember. But that would not matter; they would be reunited.

_Soon, Bae. Soon. _

….

_**Bet you thought I forgot about Belle's oppressor, huh? Guess we can wish him happy hopping. (-; **_

_**And now I would like to thank all those that have reviewed. Here's to PanicAtTheEpicness, Jennifer, rhiannal, LionshadeSC, discotimelord, Bluecanbegreen, MyraValhallah, Romance and Musicals, tfbl, Lila Sue, Guest, cheesyteal'c, and SwanQueen4055. **_

_**Thank you so much everyone! **_


	42. Chapter 42

_**A/N: Hello, everyone. I have been getting so much inspiration for this story lately, though it will not follow the show very much. So many surprises are going around my mind. Who knows what will happen? But for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter. **_

They had to make a quick stop at his shop before officially setting off. Rumpelstiltskin hastily unlocked his shop's door and allowed Belle to step inside its warmth first. She rubbed the cold from her pale hands while he limped to the front counter.

"I thought we were stopping at Emma's," Belle questioned, tilting her head inquiringly. Rumpel glided behind the counter and placed his cane against the wall. His calculating brown eyes landed on the old globe next to the register.

"Oh, we will. There's just one last task I need to complete to ensure that I find my son as quickly as possible," he said without looking away from that globe.

From underneath the counter, he withdrew an ancient mahogany chest. Inside it were dozens of old vials of magic he'd transferred to his shop soon after regaining his memories. His fingers hovered over the numerous vials before he plucked one out and examined its label.

He smiled in satisfaction.

Belle drifted up to the counter, her eyes childishly wide with curiosity. Carefully, Rumpel uncapped the bottle and poured its contents over the globe. A stream of liquid dripped on the counter, but he didn't mind it.

He strode over to the display of knives on the counter closest to the door and removed a particularly sharp one with a crimson hilt. All the while, Belle's gaze never faltered from him for a second.

Positioning the knife over his hand, he dug the point into the tip of his finger and sliced it until a pearl of blood blossomed beneath the sting. Belle gasped and bit her lip; she did not enjoy watching him wound himself.

Squeezing the wound directly over the globe, a few drops of his blood hit the decaying yellow surface and began to roll along the round side in the form of a tear. He eyed the drops intently, his heart pounding inside his chest. Peculiarly, the droplets joined together in one large tear and paused along the side. It did not roll further despite the laws of gravity in this world.

Ever so carefully, he rotated the globe to see the results better. The blood drop quivered, but remained in place. It was difficult to tell exactly which state the blood had chosen, though it was located in the New England states.

Hesitantly, he stretched his finger toward the crimson pearl. The moment he touched it, a vision played behind his eyelids. Tall, towering skyscrapers; streets crowded with people and taxis alike; a sign that read 42nd Street; a monumental torch...

The rest of the world seemed to float away as the vision hastened with images. Even Belle's presence seemed to slip from his notice, his feet no longer attached to the floorboards of the shop. His soul had been plucked from his body, stretching to infinite means.

The images quickened. Vendors along every street corner selling hot dogs, the deliciously warm steam heating his nostrils; the sharp crack of a bat as it connected with a baseball; the roar of an airplane as it soared across the overcast sky.

"Rumpel?"

The sweet allure of Belle's voice broke through the vision and guided him back to the world of Storybrooke. Slowly his eyelids parted, his sight gradually returning.

For some reason, Belle was hovering above him, her blue eyes cloudy with concern. He experimentally lifted his head and realized it had been lying in Belle's lap. He must have collapsed to the floor. The vision had consumed him worse than he thought.

"Rumpel? Are you alright? Please, say something," Belle pleaded, stroking his hair back from his forehead. He merely breathed for a moment against her belly—his throat was suddenly parched. His nerves tingled with pins and needles, as if he'd been stuck in a sleeping curse for one hundred years.

"Help me up," he requested, reaching for her hand.

Groaning, he pulled his body into a sitting position and, with her support, rose to his feet. Stumbling to the counter, he found a sterile white cloth in one of the drawers. He ripped off a strip of it and tied it around his cut finger. He was aware that Belle was watching him, seeking answers to his plight.

"New York," he finally said.

Belle's brow furrowed. Of course, she had never been to New York before. She probably never heard of such a place, least of all from the Queen. He pointed to the globe.

"That is where I'll find my son. Ironically, he could be lost in one of the biggest cities in this world."

…

"Are you sure she can help us?"

Belle inquired softly as Rumpelstiltskin rapped his knuckles on the apartment door. Inside, the Charmings were most likely savoring each other's company in an attempt to be a family. And they were about to intrude.

Their family had been torn apart countless times and had seen more misery than anyone else in Storybrooke—it felt wrong to sacrifice their happiness again. The only reason Belle didn't outright object was because she knew how desperate Rumpel was in finding his son. She couldn't ask him _not_ to. If this was what it took…then so be it.

"She owes me a favor," he calmly replied, the only incentive he needed to disrupt their morning. "Fortunately, she has a talent for finding people."

Belle hooked her arm with his and breathed out slowly. Her pulse was running rapid for both of them. To think that in as little as a week, Bae might be with them.

The door opened, revealing a pajama-clad Emma. At least she was wearing actual pajama bottoms. The Queen seemed traumatized after Emma had opened her door in a tank top and panties that one time.

It looked like their good Sheriff had just rolled out of bed. Golden, frizzled tendrils of hair framed her face; he felt sorry for the old brush that would be dragged through those tangles. Specks of crust still lingered near her corneas. A spoonful of cereal was stuck in her mouth. Slowly, it slid out and dropped to her side.

"What are you doing here?" He had to fight the urge to grit his teeth in his annoyance. It seemed her parents had yet to teach their young one the value of manners.

"Good morning to you, too, Miss Swan," he deliberately mocked. She winced sourly, but did not offer up a proper greeting. You could lead a horse to water, as the saying went. "May we come in?"

He gestured between him and Belle, who was trying her best to smile politely. Emma's clouded eyes switched back and forth, contemplating. No doubt the torture of not knowing his purpose gnawed at her. She wouldn't have the pleasure of knowing until she allowed them entrance, either.

Finally, she swung the door wider and ultimately stepped aside to let them past. Rumpel smirked down at Emma before she closed the door behind them. In the kitchen area, Snow was busy fixing breakfast for Henry while Charming sipped from a coffee cup and read _The Daily Mirror._

A natural family, indeed.

Three pairs of eyes looked up as they entered, coupled with three curious frowns. The silence was heavy and overwhelming—you would think a striped elephant stampeded through their apartment. It was funny how often that happened to him.

"Rumpelstiltskin, Belle…" Snow was the first one to jump back to life. Only Emma freely moved as she returned to her cereal bowl. Even Henry was studying them with puzzlement. "We were just having breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast, waffles…would you like some?"

Snow had exceptional manners; he conveyed as much as his brown eyes scrutinized Emma. She stubbornly ignored him, slurping up her cereal. He double-checked with Belle, but she lightly shook her head.

"I already ate something this morning. But thank you," she said.

Yes, after their bacon burned, she devoured the last two powdered doughnuts in the box. And then had to change clothes. It was like the iced tea all over again—Belle could not get enough of those powdered doughnuts. Though, it certainly was tempting when she got a spot of it on her nose.

"I appreciate the gesture, Snow," he kindly replied. Even in their land, he could not help but be fond of the fairest of them all. "And before you ask, Charming, no, I did not get robbed." Charming nodded, his unspoken question satisfied.

"Sorry the test subject didn't work out," he said instead, peering down into the coffee cup. Rumpel thought he actually sounded sympathetic. "Sidney was pretty confused. It took us over a half hour to convince him Regina was no longer in office."

The poor sap was probably crying into his pillow this morning, heartbroken over the fact that he might never see his unrequited love again. Nothing he could do about that. Oh, but the glee of having completed his task arose.

"No matter. I figured it out without the help of Mr. Glass," he smugly boasted. Emma's spoon splashed into her cereal bowl. Snow's head whipped around in disbelief and Charming nearly spewed his coffee over Henry.

"You…you really…you mean you actually…?" Emma struggled to put her astonishment into words. Her eyes were wide as a deer's in headlights. Belle gently squeezed his arm, added congratulations.

"It's true," she insisted on his behalf. "He told me this morning. That's why…we're going to New York today. We're going to find his son." She eyed him intently; it would be up to him to remind Emma of their deal. Henry's face lit up with surprise.

"Mr. Go—I mean, Rumpelstiltskin…you have a son?" Rumpel's eyes flashed over to Charming, whose head was suspiciously low. So, the Charmings weren't as open as they pretended. He nodded lightly to Henry's question.

"Maybe we can arrange a play-date," Charming quipped from his end of the table. _Yes, and maybe you and I can have a guys' night out at Granny's with a couple of drinks and some karaoke, _Rumpel retorted in his mind. That would be the day.

"Emma, you remember that favor you owe me." It wasn't a question, but a statement of truth. That favor had been hanging like a black cloud over Emma's head ever since Ashley birthed her baby.

Emma preoccupied herself with wiping her fingers on a paper napkin, but she eyed him with steadily increasing dread. _Guess what, dearie? It's worth more than half a sandwich. _

"Yeah, I remember," she tentatively confirmed. He grinned and loomed forward. It caused her to bristle and shift uneasily on her stool.

"Today's the day, Miss Swan. I'm cashing it in." Emma sat frozen like a colorful statue. It seemed no one in the room drew a breath. Snow and Charming glanced at Emma fearfully and then back to Rumpelstiltskin. "I've traced my son to somewhere in New York. Unfortunately, my means of finding him end there. Lucky for me that our town's bounty hunter owes me a favor. Pack a bag, Emma—you're coming with me."

Emma's face became blank as she struggled to register the terms of her favor. Henry, however, looked like Gold just informed him they were going to Disney World.

"You're going to New York? Can I come?"

That request snapped Emma right out of her shocked reverie. Rumpel had never truly seen Emma switch on her 'mother mode'—it was quite a fascinating thing. Her aura oozed protectiveness and concern, such a difference from her hardly-give-a-damn, walls-up persona of days old.

"Absolutely not, kid. There's no way I'm losing you in New York. You can stay with your grandparents," she declared. She glanced at Snow and Charming for confirmation. "Assuming they're willing to watch you while I'm gone."

"Actually, Snow and I could really use the alone time to—" Charming started to decline, but Snow whacked him in the chest. He moaned and rubbed the place she hit. Snow smiled brightly.

"Of course we'll take care of Henry. I'm sure there are plenty of things we could do to keep him busy. For instance, he's always wanted to learn how to ride a horse. Perhaps Charming could take him to the stables," she suggested. She looked to her husband, who nodded in agreement. "You find your son. No child should be without their parents."

Almost instantly, Snow realized how that sounded as she looked startlingly at Emma. She covered her mouth in shame as Emma burned a hole through the floorboards with her eyes. The resentment of having been abandoned had not yet healed, no matter how necessary it was.

Without meeting Snow's gaze, Emma charged for her bedroom.

"I'm going to go change. And pack a bag," she briskly announced for all to hear. The closing of the door, even though it was not so brutal, made Snow wince. Charming comforted his wife with a gentle massaging of her arms. Belle continued holding him by the arm, but Rumpel could sense the tension in her body.

This was a wonderful start, wasn't it?

"You know what, Snow," he perked up when no one else did. "I think I'll take you up on the offer of waffles, after all." He had a feeling Emma would be a while.

…..

They stopped the car a foot or so from the border. The sign that read _You Are Now Leaving Storybrooke_ faced them; it was only a matter of bypassing it.

Rumpel gripped the steering wheel and stared forward at the border through the windshield. From the passenger's seat, Emma impatiently drummed her fingers on the handle of the door. Squeezed between them on the long seat in the front was Belle, who reached over to take Rumpel's hand from the steering wheel. It was tight with anxiety, his veins thick cords protruding from his skin.

"Are we there yet?" Emma openly mocked. It earned her a sharp glare.

This was a gentle situation for them; they were about to do the unthinkable and step beyond the town of Storybrooke. Carefully, he removed the potion from inside his suit, cradling it protectively as he would a newborn child. He looked upon Belle and caressed her cheek.

"Now, in order for this to work properly, you will need a talisman. Preferably an object you hold dear. Without it, you cannot hope to keep your memories," he explained patiently.

"You couldn't have told me this before we left the house?" She teased him, causing him to drop his gaze shyly.

Belle tilted her head to the left, the way she did whenever she was thinking critically about something. It often happened when she read. Now, her hand flew to her throat.

"If only I still had my mother's golden necklace. The last time I wore it was the night I went with you," she lamented.

The necklace had been given to her by her father when she was a child. It was the only thing she kept in honor of her mother. For all she knew, it was lost in their world since she had neglected to take it from the Dark Castle. Her emotions had run so rapid that night; she hadn't had the mind to retrieve it. By the time she realized it was missing, it was too late to turn back and re-enter the Dark Castle after her fallout with Rumpelstiltskin.

Rumpel held up a finger to give her pause and his hand dipped once more into his pocket. Out rose a thin gold chain, accentuated only with a single golden teardrop.

"I've been meaning to give this to you. It was in my shop." Belle's fingertips reached out to touch the golden teardrop, making it swing slightly. A mixture of surprise and happiness spread throughout her face.

"You kept it…after I left?" She thought she would never see this necklace again. She should have known that he would treasure it as he did the chipped cup. Remorse shattered the firm mask that he often wore and he threaded his fingers through her rich hair.

"Of course I did. After the Queen told me you were…_dead_…I gathered up everything in my castle that reminded me of you and I valued them more than any other trinket. Unfortunately, all I had was the chipped cup, your clothes, and this," he said softly. Her heart had never swelled so painfully as it did when his brown eyes reflected love for her.

Uncapping the vial, he lowered the necklace into the shimmering liquid. It did not absorb a lot of the potion; the teardrop was simply coated in a layer of protective magic. Pulling it out, the gold seemed to shine brighter than it had a second ago. He brushed back Belle's hair and draped the necklace around her throat, clasping it together.

"Yeah, that's…romantic. I hate to interrupt the Lifetime movie of the week, but it's more than four hours to New York…." Emma lounged back in her seat, appearing rather bored with her head laid in her hand. Rumpel ignored her rudeness in favor of Belle. She scanned his attire for his talisman.

"What will you use, then?"

He had considered using the potion on his suit, but there wasn't enough of the potion for that. Instead, he reached into the backseat and revealed a black box. He nestled it on his lap and lovingly smoothed his palm over the cover. The lid opened; inside it a rough piece of tan fabric that looked foreign to any clothing worn in this world.

Emma scrunched her nose as the faint smell of livestock rose from it. But Rumpel leisurely breathed it in, especially since it reminded him of his home. Of simpler days underneath a blood-red sunset.

"My boy's cloak," he clarified, removing it from the box. It was either this or his ball. The only reason he opted out of using the ball was because he was afraid some bratty child in New York might try to steal it away. He upended the rest of the potion over the cloak, sprinkling it up and down over the cloth. Then he placed the cloak comfortably around his neck like a scarf. "Ready?"

He held out his hand for Belle's and she smiled hesitantly. He could tell she was nervous, considering the fact that there was no book warning her how to prepare for the possibility of losing sight of your true self by crossing a magical border.

What if the potion failed? _Then I suppose this is the day we shall die together, _he thought morosely.

Taking a deep breath, his nerves jumping out of control, he revved up the engine and steadily drove the last few feet to the border. It seemed no one—not even Emma—dared to take a breath as the sign's message swept out of view.

Crossing the border was the sharp equivalent of plunging head-first into a frozen lake in the middle of winter. The tendrils of iciness dripped over ever crevice of his mind, every nerve in his body growing numb. For a full minute, he saw nothing behind his eyelids but white light.

He had no idea how he managed to stomp on the brake.

He didn't know how many minutes passed before he gained the courage to open his eyes to the world. The first thing he registered was his hands curled around the steering wheel for dear life, the knuckles bone white in their strain. His mind was sluggish, the task of dredging up memories a terrible feat.

Turning his head, he noticed one of the passengers in his car staring curiously at him as though expecting him to turn invisible. Emma, the name drifted from the depths of his mind. Once more, he relived their first meeting in the Inn, when she had been a stranger to their town.

And then he looked at _her. _

Blue eyes hazy with puzzlement, hands clutching her knees in fright. The golden teardrop glinted in the rays of the sun through the windshield. Tentatively, he placed a hand atop hers and she met his gaze. A shred of recognition was shared between them. It was a tiny spark that held the promise of a vibrant flame.

"Belle," he murmured, the name rolling smoothly off his tongue.

He repeated it over and over in his mind as every one of their cherished memories rushed back to him with the speed of light. Belle falling into his arms, handing her the rose, Belle softly kissing his lips, making love by the fire, swimming underneath the waterfall…

She shakily lifted a hand to trace his jaw. Her eyes sparkled with determination—she was struggling like hell to access the library of memories. Those delicate lips puckered around the words experimentally.

"Rum…" She paused and furrowed her brow. _Come on, sweetheart, _he silently encouraged her efforts. _Say it for me, Belle. Remember…._Miraculously, her emotions flowered fully across her face, a mixture of relief, recognition, and love. "How could I ever forget you…Rumpelstiltskin?"

He gathered her up in his arms and buried his face in her hair. It was difficult to believe they were actually beyond Storybrooke's border, but they had done it. It was the best feeling he had experienced in a long time.

"Hey, it worked," a small voice exclaimed from the backseat. Henry's head popped up. Both Belle and Emma gasped and spun around in their seats. Rumpel was the only one that did not jump out of his skin.

"Hello, Henry," he calmly greeted with an impish grin. Emma swept her blonde hair back from her forehead and shot daggers at Henry's innocent visage.

"Henry! I thought I told you to stay with your grandparents," she snapped. He cast his eyes down guiltily. He certainly had the Charming puppy-eyes going for him. "What exactly was your plan if they called me up in hysterics, screaming that you'd been kidnapped?" Henry shrugged loosely.

"I left a note," he mumbled. Emma seriously doubted that note read: _Dear loving grandparents, I am stowing away in the back of Rumpelstiltskin's car to fulfill my dream of going to New York; enjoy the alone time._ For his grandparents' sakes, the kid had better put on extra X's and O's.

Then Emma switched her focus to her next target: Rumpel.

"And you! Don't tell me you knew he was back there the whole time!" Rumpel casually examined his well-manicured nails. He couldn't keep the smirk from sliding across his face.

"Of course I did. No one intrudes on my territory without my knowledge, Sheriff. Perhaps you need a better security system on that oversized lemon you're carting around town." Emma leaned over Belle—who was still eyeing Henry incredulously—and cocked an eyebrow.

"First of all, don't insult my Bug. Second…you were basically….what? Smuggling my son into New York? You didn't think I'd notice something during the four hours? You know how kids are—always stopping on a road trip because they have to use the bathroom and didn't do it before they left."

Henry made a sour face and muttered something about already having gone to the bathroom. Rumpel waved Emma's complaints off with a flick of his wrist.

"How pessimistic of you, Emma. I would never kill a young boy's dreams of visiting New York. And I'm sure you would have noticed in less than four hours, since I don't plan to drive the entire way." Belle and Emma scrutinized him quizzically. Henry was merely content with making himself comfy in the backseat and cracking open a comic book.

"What do you mean? You would allow Emma to drive your car?"

Belle looked on at him in admiration for what she believed to be a show of trust in other people. The skepticism on Emma's face was flashing like a neon sign. For one thing, Belle could not drive and Henry—being ten years old—was out of the question.

"Nope," he replied firmly as he started the car. No one drove his car except for him. Instead, he smiled secretively at his fiancée. "I've always wanted to ride on an airplane."

….

_**Apparently, Gold has never been a fan of Lost. (-; Of course, I just had to include the classic Henry-pops-up-from-backseat thing. And I just want to have a little bit of fun with Rumpel in the airport. Who isn't amused by that? **_

_**And now to thank all those that have reviewed recently—there have been so many awesome words that I can't even describe my thrill of reading them in my inbox! A huge thank-you goes out to XxXxIzzieXxXx, Bluecanbegreen, discotimelord, Jennifer, Romance and Musicals, StarofJems, Grace5231973, Huntress4455, Alexander Ripley, Stargate533, cheesyteal'c, aradiaeva, The Auburn Girl, PanicAtTheEpicness, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	43. Chapter 43

Belle had never been on a road trip before. The longest time she had ever been in Rumpelstiltskin's modern carriage was when they had traveled from his home to the secluded cabin in the woods. That was when they were still stuck in the limits of Storybrooke.

But this…this was fascinating!

Excitement rushed through her veins, so much that she couldn't even concentrate on the pages of her book. Her eyes darted around with feverish curiosity once they began to pass through the more populated areas of Maine. The sights, the people, the vehicles on the road…

She wondered what New York was like.

She and Henry wore matching smiles of anticipation. Maybe after Rumpel reunited with his son, they could stay a little longer in New York and explore all it had to offer. It could be a real adventure in a new land, not a prison sentence in the confines of Storybrooke.

Unfortunately, the other two were not as enthusiastic.

"Could you slow down before you take out a tourist as a souvenir? This isn't a race track," Emma complained from her side of the car. Rumpel shot Emma a dark glare in response, but eased up on the pedal just a bit. Belle lurched forward from the sudden decrease in speed, her belly flopping.

"My son is lost somewhere in New York. Forgive me if I don't give a damn about the speed limit, Sheriff," he retorted coldly.

Belle placed a gentle hand on his arm to calm him, but he bristled away from her. It was clear he didn't want her to see how unstable he was. The poor man was a wreck inside.

"You will care the minute we get pulled over," Emma returned, raking a frustrated hand through her sunshine locks. A shifting sound started up behind them as Henry poked his head through the space between Belle and Emma's shoulders.

"So…does anyone want to play a road game?" Belle inclined her head in interest, settling her book in her lap. She'd never played any road games before, either. Both Rumpel and Emma moaned unpleasantly.

"Not now, Henry," Emma declined. She buried her head in her hand miserably.

Rumpel impatiently shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. No one wanted to coax Henry's whims. But Belle hated to see the disappointment drowning Henry's hopes. So she maneuvered in her seat until she faced him.

"How do you play?" That smile could not possibly have been wider if someone stuck their fingers in Henry's mouth and stretched his lips by the corners. It made her smile brightly in return, the glee perfectly contagious.

"Easy. We could play 'I Spy.' All you do is think of something around you and give a hint for the other person to figure out. Like this: 'I spy with my little eye….something red.' Then you would have to figure out what I mean." Belle absorbed the information hungrily. This game sounded fun. Why ever wouldn't Rumpel and Emma want to indulge in it?

"But what if someone doesn't have a little eye? What if you were playing this game with a giant?" Henry's interest peaked at the mention of giants. Belle had a feeling he would make a worthy knight, what with his investment in all things fairytale.

"I don't know. It's just what you say. Kind of like 'please' and 'thank you.' Want to play?" Belle tucked her legs under the seat to get comfortable and she nodded. She braced herself for Henry's challenge. "Okay, I'll go first. Just so you can see how it's done."

"Or you just can't resist going first," Emma pointed out. "You do it to me all the time whenever we play board games at Mary Margaret's." Henry didn't deny it. He tapped his finger to his chin thoughtfully as he scanned their environment for something tricky.

"Hmm…I spy with my little eye…something…gray." Henry's challenge had been set; now Belle merely needed to deduce his thinking. She had to admit that gray was an odd choice of color, but it luckily eliminated almost everything surrounding them.

Gray…gray…

The street? No, the pavement was almost inky black in hue. The bumper of the car? No, Henry couldn't very well see the bumper so that would likely be against the rules of the game. Imagination did not count, did it?

It had to be something the boy could see. Otherwise, what was the point of spying?

Belle's head turned this way and that, studying every detail with extreme consideration. She examined the dashboard, the windshield, even the smelly little tree swinging from the rearview mirror. She glanced at Emma, drank in the sight of her clothing. Red jacket, blue jeans, scuffed brown lace-up boots, a silver necklace. Silver wasn't the same as gray.

"Give up yet?" Henry inquired over her shoulder. Belle patiently lifted a finger, requesting another moment. Her gaze wandered to Rumpel, the only other possible solution she could decipher. The answer must lie with him.

His suit was of a rich charcoal shade, his tie and dress shirt a magnificent navy blue. There were hardly any splotches of color on his body, but neither were there splashes of gray. She scrutinized his smooth skin, the light layer of stubble clouding his jaw, the tan shawl draped on his shoulders.

None of it fit Henry's criteria.

Last was the top of his head, his feathery brown hair shielding his eyes. Oh…a giggle slipped from her mouth as she suddenly figured it out. Rumpel glanced over at her, suspicious about the reason for her unexpected euphoria. As he stared at her, she giggled again.

"Is it…Rumpelstiltskin's gray hair?" Henry burst out laughing and nodded approvingly. Rumpel's eyes flew open wide and he patted his hair self-consciously. Even Emma cracked a smile at that one.

"I do not have…that much…gray hair," he protested. He tried sweeping his brown hair over the gray patches at the base of his ears and scalp. The poor dear was probably going to be glued in front of a mirror during their whole trip.

Belle leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"I don't care what you look like, Rumpelstiltskin. I still love you," she declared. She raked his hair back to reveal the gray streaks, just to prove it. At least Rumpel had stopped worrying over it so much, now that she had once more confessed her love.

He caught her hand and raised it to his lips for a brief kiss.

"From now on, there shall be no more road games. Not if the state of my hair is called into question," he warned Henry. The boy gave a small cry of disappointment, but resigned to sitting quietly in back. The only sounds in the car were the rumble of the engine and the insistent drumming of Emma's fingers on the windowsill.

"Here comes the boredom," the Sheriff muttered.

"I'm right there with you," Henry sighed from the backseat. Belle, however, had other means of keeping her mind busy.

"Perhaps you two will listen to me next time and bring a book."

….

Logan Airport's massive population was enough to make any person feel claustrophobic. There were people rushing by everywhere she turned, shoulders bumped into her own, hips squeezed past on either side. Indecipherable chatter buzzed inside the airport, swirling around her head like a whirlpool.

It was madness.

She found herself clutching tightly onto Rumpel's arm. Every second, the space around her seemed to decrease, getting smaller and smaller. There was hardly any room to breathe. It reminded her of the restrictions of that gray cell, except this time everything was moving faster than her eye could follow.

"Relax, sweetheart," Rumpel cooed in her ear and she realized she had been grasping his hand until there was no circulation in his fingers. He gathered her closer to his chest. A warm hand brushed the hair from her cheek. "I'm here. Nothing will happen to you while you're with me."

Gradually, her pulse returned to normal as she registered the soothing vows he was whispering to her. She was okay, she was safe. She was in his care, no matter what. Everything would be alright.

Emma led them forward through the bustling crowd, striding along with the air of someone who had flown countless times in the past. They were brought to a desk where they were required to check-in. Their entire luggage was carry-on, or so Gold mumbled gratefully.

He held her hand the entire way as they tackled a long line. Up ahead, Belle could see some kind of metal structure and guards were waving wands as they directed people to step through it one by one. A pattern of shrill alarms occasionally screeched through the air—_beep, beep, beep, beep. _

It sent a shiver down her spine.

"Rum—" He squeezed her hand until her words trailed off. His eyes skimmed the crowd warily.

"Sh, sh, sh. Use my Storybrooke name. I have an ill feeling these people would not be so welcoming toward us creatures of imagination," he advised her with discretion. It served as another reminder that they were outsiders breaching the outer world.

"Mr. Gold," she played along hesitantly. It felt wrong to be calling him that now. "What is that machine?"

She gestured her head in its direction. More people passed through it, the guards waved their wands, and they inevitably neared it step by step.

"Why, that's…it's for…Emma, what exactly is that infernal contraption?" Only a couple of people remained ahead of them. It was almost their turn. Emma slowed in stride so that she could hang back and fill them in.

"That is a metal detector. They have to check that you're not bringing anything dangerous onto the plane. There's a very good reason for the overwhelming process, but I don't think it'd be wise to retell that story right now." They stumbled a few more feet; the machine was within arm's reach. A plastic bucket rolled along a conveyor belt, stopping beside them. "You have to put your jackets, bags, shoes, cell phones, and anything metal inside," Emma hissed.

Rumpel gaped at Emma as though she had three heads.

"How terribly uncivilized," he muttered, but took the liberty of being the first among them to strip off his shoes. At least he was wearing comfortable socks that matched the colors of his suit. Appearance was vital to Rumpelstiltskin ever since his early days of being called a coward.

Belle obediently placed her bag and jacket inside the bucket along with her own flats. The linoleum floor was chilly against her bare feet. A nearby guard checked them over and pointed to Belle's chest.

"Cane, scarf, and necklace go in the basket," he demanded, rattling the bucket in front of them. Belle's hand flew to her throat and the golden drop necklace that hung there. There was no question—she simply could not part with it. Rumpel's lined face paled with alarm.

"What?" It was the first time she'd ever witnessed him completely speechless around someone else besides her. Emma tapped her socks on the floor as Henry strolled carelessly through the metal detector. The guard pointed even more profusely.

"Cane. Scarf. Necklace. In the basket," he repeated. The people behind them were growing antsy as they waited for the line to move forward. Someone cursed aloud for all to hear. Emma leaned her head toward Rumpel's shoulder and lightly tugged his shawl.

"Just do it," she whispered. He spun on her with incredulity.

"Emma, I can't. And neither can Belle," he shot back. "You know what will happen."

Belle was painfully aware of the odd looks the guards were giving them. Did they sense how unordinary they were? Did they think that they were dangerous somehow? Emma was just as flustered, but there was nothing that could be done.

"You have to," she urged, glancing directly at Belle. The fear crept in. If she took off her necklace…The thought of it made her sick to her stomach and she clutched at Rumpel's hand for support. She never wanted to forget him again. This time, there might be no getting him back, either.

And they were so close to happiness. Were they doomed to miss the mark?

"I can't take it off," she protested. Rumpel turned around to soothe her, but it was too late. Her emotions ran wild, the unease making her breath quicken. "I can't. If I do, I'll lose everything. Don't ask me to forget you, Rumpel, please."

Her body trembled and she held a hand over her chest as though one of the guards planned to confiscate the necklace themselves. The guard with the wand checked his watch impatiently and spread his arms out in a furious question: _What's taking so long?_

"Is there a problem here?"

The first guard regarded them with suspicion. Emma bit down on her lip, sensing trouble. Acting quickly, she latched onto Rumpel's arm with all the tender care of a helpful nurse aiding the handicapped. She blinked her eyelashes at the guard pleadingly.

"He's just nervous for a family reunion. And she's terrified of flying in a plane. Guess I let her watch a little too much television. Belle, how many times do I have to tell you—there is no possible chance of us being stranded on a deserted island?"

Belle suddenly wished she had taken the time to read everything she could about flying on planes.

Rumpel exchanged an unsure glance with Emma. Her face was guarded and hard to read, though she slightly dipped her head in urging. This had to be done.

Frowning, he cupped Belle's chin and guided it upwards so that she was looking at him straight-on. She willed away the anguish radiating off his body.

"I told you I would never let anything happen to you…Belle," he said.

She leaned her head into his hand an instant before he took it away, leaving her chin tingling from his touch. In one quick flourish, he whipped off the shawl and shoved it in the basket along with his cane. A shudder ran up his spine and she nearly demanded to know what he was thinking.

He was setting an example for her. If he could do this without severe repercussions, so could she.

Belle watched Rumpel with nothing short of concern as he stumbled toward the metal detector. Without his cane, the guards interpreted his swaying as a factor of his lame leg. But Belle knew him too well. Even with the burden of his leg in this world, Rumpel had always exhibited a natural sense of gracefulness.

That unattainable grace was gone as he began to collapse. If it were not for the structure of the metal detector to catch him, he would have fallen to the floor. Belle brought a hand to cover her mouth, stifling the worried cry from her lips. _Please, don't let me lose him, _she prayed.

Emma swooped forward to catch him from falling backward. Her cheeks puffed with strain as she balanced his weight and struggled to steady him on his feet. Soon, with Emma leading him by the elbow, he made it through to the other side.

Emma scrambled for the shawl, draping it around his shoulders as fast as her hands could fly.

Belle was frozen in her spot, waiting for him to look at her and give a sign that he was himself once more. His head lifted, seeking her out. The disorientation seeped from his irises, his head nodding frantically. His lips rounded out her name, though his voice had yet to return. _Belle…_

He was alright.

And now it was her turn.

"Necklace," the guard insisted sternly. "And the ring, if you don't mind." The only problem was, she minded this situation very much. It would be rude to mention that, however, so Belle simply stared back at him with a fixed jaw.

He pointed to her engagement ring, as if she had not understood his words. Her finger traced the jewel longingly. Sucking in a deep breath, she quickly removed the necklace and ring before she could talk herself out of doing it in the first place. She dropped her possessions in the bucket and they moved along the conveyor belt.

Belle faced the metal detector as she would a fierce dragon. She began walking, taking tentative slow steps. An odd sensation flowered across her mind, numbing it. It produced the same effect as having Nurse Ratched pump her veins full of muscle-inhibiting drugs.

Confused, shadowy, unable to grasp a single thought for more than a few seconds.

_My name is Belle and I am in love with Rumpelstiltskin. My name is Belle and I am in love with Rumpelstiltskin, _she repeated consistently in her mind as she reached the threshold of the metal detector. It would serve as an alarm if she started losing her memory. That would be the last to go. _My name is…Belle and I am in love with…Rumpel…stiltskin…_

The pieces chipped away. Chipped like their cup.

Before she could let the panic overwhelm her nerves, she was on the other side and in his arms. She was like a child—her attention roving all over the place in search of one detail that seemed familiar.

A tiny metallic noise hit her ears. The fog rolled out from her brain and she realized he had clasped her necklace around her neck.

The potion must be taking effect again. Her senses returned, the room stopped spinning on an axis, and she could actually _think. _Relieved, she embraced Rumpel. _I hope we never have to do that again. _

"Don't forget this," he whispered in her ear. She drew back to notice that he was holding her ring by its thin golden band. Taking her hand, he carefully slipped it over her knuckle and onto her finger where it belonged.

A last wave of nausea quivered through her body.

"I feel dizzy," she moaned. He wrapped his arm protectively around her waist as they claimed their belongings and followed Henry and Emma to some food place called Cinnabon.

Rumpel's lips teased her neck.

"Be thankful you're not flying pregnant, _dearie." _

….

_I can't do this…Yes, I can. I have to….No, I've changed my mind. I can't do this. _

Rumpelstiltskin gripped the arm of his chair with all his might as the plane accelerated. It began shaking violently underneath his feet, rocking his body side to side. A cold sweat broke out over his forehead.

It wasn't so much the anxiety of his first flight that shot his nerves to hell. It was the notion of reuniting with his boy again. What once filled him with so much anticipation and meaning now transfixed him with dread. He'd been fighting for it for 300 years, but now that it was here…oh, he wasn't ready.

_I can't do this…._

A tender hand covered his, a thumb massaging his skin in circles. He opened his eyes and instantly plunged head-first into Belle's. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled encouragingly into his suit.

"Everything will be alright," she reminded him softly. It was difficult to remember lately. The plane jolted again and his ears popped as they soared into the sky. No turning back now.

"You don't know that," he argued, wincing from the pressure in his ears. That must be why Emma offered him gum before the flight. Unless it was a hint that his breath wasn't so minty. "What if…Belle, what if he doesn't forgive me?"

It was his greatest fear while he had painstakingly created the curse—the uncertainty that Bae would grant his forgiveness. He had countless nightmares of Bae's youthful face as he remembered it, twisting and contorting with hatred and mocking words. The brand 'coward' falling from his own boy's lips drove a nail through his lungs.

Belle patted his hand.

"He will. You're his father. I'm sure the two of you will make amends," she replied confidently. He wished he had even a shred of her bright outlook. His stomach did somersaults with the plane. Or maybe it was a new wave of anxiety all over again.

The doubts simply would not stop climbing up his throat. They demanded to be heard and recognized and he was grateful it was Belle sitting beside him instead of Emma. He had a feeling she would not have the same tolerance for it. Oh, that nasty ache wouldn't quit rubbing salt into the open wounds of his heart.

"What if…my boy is…dead?" The last note was half a sob, sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Oh, gods, what if instead of coming face-to-face with his son, all he found was a cold, lonely grave without even a flower to prove someone had been there for him in his last days? _He_ never had, after all. It would be the cruelest fate—to ultimately realize that his son would never be his again.

He knew in the back of his mind that he was torturing himself, punishing himself for a mistake past. There had never been a day gone by that he didn't remorse over losing his son, but he was doing it worse recently because the possibility of reunion was within arm's reach. Kind of like repenting for your sins whilst on your deathbed.

"Would the globe have shown you the location of your son if he were…not alive?" It was meant to comfort him, prove to him that there was hope. Belle was trying. But he found he could not answer that question. His mind drew a blank on all things magic. "We will find your son. Have faith, Ru—Mr. Gold. Stop confusing what may be with what will be."

"Sometimes, they're one and the same," he mumbled back.

Belle clucked her tongue disapprovingly at his dismal attitude. One thing he knew for certain: if he managed to reunite with Bae, it would not be some happy-go-lucky, running-through-the-fields-in-slow-motion, group-hug moment. Far from it.

Belle unfurled his fingers from the arm of his seat. His palm ached from holding on so tightly, his skin red from the pressure. He kept his eyes locked on Emma's chair directly in front of him as Belle guided his hand to her chest.

After a moment, he could feel her heart beating against his palm. Its steady rhythm relaxed him, allowing his eyes to drift closed peacefully. His wary mind lost itself in the stable lullaby of her pulse. Its melody only ever belonged to him: _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. _

And then she sucked in a breath. She wrenched his hand back from her chest. What had he done wrong?

"It's been hours since you cut your finger," she pointed out. His brow furrowed with lack of understanding. What did such details matter now?

"Your point?"

Despite her change of subject, he did not open his eyes. If he could hold on to that marvelous ease he had felt upon experiencing her heartbeat…Belle helped him flex his fingers apart. He could tell she was examining it by the way she turned his hand this way and that.

"You're still bleeding."

His attention was snagged, his eyes shooting open to see what she was talking about.

There was no plausible way he could be…

Oh, but he was. The bandage wrapped around his finger had transformed from a clean white to a scarlet red with time. Ripping it away, the cut was exposed with a fresh pearl of blood oozing from the sliced skin, wet and seductively dark.

New fear spiraled through his body as he watched that pearl of blood slide along his skin. A flight attendant had noticed the wound, but he could not hear her repeated question of whether he wanted a Band-Aid. Emma and Henry had turned around in their seats to stare at him, but even that was lost on him.

All he could see was that teardrop of blood and contemplate its meaning. His trademark warning slammed back into his mind, brutal in its irony.

_All magic comes with a price. _

…..

_**Never forget that rule. (-; I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. And for those of you who saw the latest episode of Once, what did you think of it? **_

_**A big thank-you goes out to all my reviewers: DragonRose4, Huntress4455, Princess Geta, WhiteLites, Linzerj, Bluecanbegreen, Lila Sue, MyraValhallah, Jennifer, PanicAtTheEpicness, discotimelord, Romance and Musicals, SwanQueen4055, cheesyteal'c, The Auburn Girl, and Grace5231973. **_

_**Wow, this story is nearly up to 500 reviews. Thank you everyone for the wonderful support! **_


	44. Chapter 44

_**A/N: This might not have been the fastest I updated, but I must say that this is the fastest I ever wrote a chapter. I wrote this whole thing up last night, nonstop. Seriously, that inspiration was like a tsunami. And I think you guys will enjoy this chapter very much because of it. **_

__It was a fortunate thing the flight was only forty-five minutes in duration.

The flight attendant found a Band-Aid—childishly decorated with Scooby-Doo—and it was enough to shrug off the unwanted attention. He made the excuse of a particularly nasty paper-cut and, though skeptical, the flight attendant left them alone.

The Band-Aid didn't last long. It began peeling back from his skin, damp with the scarlet stains of his blood.

Halfway through the flight, it only got worse.

The first thing he noticed was that he had lost the sensation of Belle's hand entwined in his. It wasn't that she pulled away. He just...couldn't feel its warmth any longer. Black spots danced in his vision, a faint roar haunted his ears like a powerful rush of water drowning out all other noises, a cold sweat broke out over his forehead.

This wasn't how he expected his first plane ride to go.

_Mr. Gold…are you alright? _Belle was craning her neck to peer under the curtain of his hair. The strands were plastered to the base of his temples. Her lips moved, mouthing out words, but he could not hear anything she said.

Henry's head popped up over his seat. The boy asked something as well—_are you okay? You don't look so good—_and then shook his head. Emma couldn't stop staring at his Scooby-Doo Band-Aid. He would have made a quip about how she must be jealous, but his tongue was dry as cotton.

Belle stroked his hand comfortingly the rest of the way despite his lack of awareness to it. Still, he could sense the turmoil inside her. It pained her to watch him suffer uncontrollably this way. As if he wasn't out of his element enough.

It was no better once they got off the plane. The colors were distracting, the black suits of businessmen blending with the black spots in his vision. He had to stop every few seconds because the room spun fast as a carousel, the floor somehow flipping on its side to where the ceiling should be, his knees shaking and buckling. Belle grasped his elbow, leading him around as pathetically as an elderly person in need of guidance.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" This outburst from Emma, of course. His hearing slowly returned, punctuated with a tinny ringing. Belle settled him on a bench so he could breathe. In, out, in, out; the room stopped spinning on an axis.

"It's his price for using magic to find his son. He cut his finger to perform a spell and now…it won't stop bleeding," Belle explained patiently. It didn't hide the tiny shred of worry in her voice. It made him feel guiltier. Magic could be such a burden sometimes.

"So…what? Are we going to have to invest in a wheelchair and cart him around New York? I'm not pushing," Emma retorted.

Oh, hell no. Despite the weakness in his legs, he jolted to his feet and stumbled into the crowd. His companions were helpless to follow.

"I am fine. I shall endure. There is no way you are resigning me to a wheelchair like an invalid," he objected venomously over his shoulder. Even Belle had a hard time keeping up with him, always missing his sleeve.

Oof, there went the colors again.

It felt like he was stuck in a kaleidoscope, the shades all swirling together in nonsensical patterns. Someone must have attached a weight to the left side of his frame, upsetting his balance. His body tilted, colliding into a black trash can.

The spots almost fully eclipsed his sight, beads of sweat rolled over his brow, his breath coming in short pants. His hands gripped the edges of the trash can, his cane lost somewhere on the ground. Eyelids fluttering closed, he hung his head over the opening while his breakfast threatened to rush up and out. It burned in the back of his throat, his stomach twisting in knots.

"Darling," the whisper soothed his nerves. It was a spectacular strobe of white light that wrenched him back from the edge of unconsciousness. He was suddenly aware of Belle's palm rubbing his back as his muscles painfully convulsed. "Sh, it's alright. Listen to the sound of my voice. You can do this. I have faith in you."

The comforting words broke through the lightheadedness, commanding his undivided attention. It became easier to suck in breath after breath, to gather a sense of his surroundings. For one thing, this trash can was beyond need of emptying, if the stench was anything to go by.

Slowly, he regained the confidence of his legs and straightened up. The shadowy veil lifted from his vision. He noticed that Emma and Henry were watching him with concern, as well as several passersby.

"You've never seen someone with motion sickness before?" He snapped at the onlookers. Their feet could not carry their bodies fast enough. Emma's attitude hardened and she averted her gaze. "I am fine. Let's find my son and be done with it."

He didn't bother waiting for their answer to start heading toward the exit of the airport, though he let Belle hold his hand. He squeezed lightly, a small thank-you for what she had done. Emma was courteous enough to hand his cane back, thrusting it into his chest.

"Are you sure you don't want that wheelchair?"

…..

From the airport, they hailed a taxi with Henry claiming shotgun. To Belle's relief, it simply meant he wanted the front seat. It wasn't exactly as prestigious as a royal carriage—there were nasty dents in the bumper and doors, the inside stank of stale French fries, and the traffic was horrendous.

Rumpelstiltskin glared at the jostling crowd of people on the sidewalk from his window. At this rate, he could give birth to twins faster. Hell, make that triplets.

"Can't this moronic vehicle go any faster? Perhaps take a side road," he grumbled impatiently to the middle-aged walking heart attack of a man that served as their driver. The guy met Rumpel's eyes in the rearview mirror, annoyance flashing bright as a lighthouse beam.

"Sure, buddy. I'll just wave my hand and make the traffic disappear. Or maybe I'll summon my magic carpet and we'll fly out," he sarcastically retorted. Rumpel leaned forward, his teeth bared dangerously. Belle had to grip his arm to hold him back.

"Are you mocking me?" Belle tugged forcefully and Rumpel slumped back in his seat. Emma buried her head in her hand in unadulterated bemusement. The driver looked like he thought Rumpel might pull a gun on him.

"Sorry. You'll have to excuse my fiancé. He's nervous about a family reunion," Belle explained, smiling politely. The driver seemed to nod in approval, though his gaze was never far from the rearview mirror.

Rumpel went back to peering absently out the window. He rolled it down a few inches so as to get some air and drive away the remnants of dizziness. It came and went in waves. He hadn't realized he was bobbing his leg furiously until Belle placed her hand on his knee.

"Is it any better?"

She motioned her head to the napkin he had tied around his finger when the Band-Aid had exceeded its purpose. The white paper was nearly soaked through. He lifted it and dropped it tiredly. It was getting hard to move fluidly.

"The dizziness has subsided. I can't tell if the bleeding has slowed without taking the napkin off," he said. Belle gently reached over to clasp his hand. When he didn't resist her, she guided it into her lap and began to peel the napkin back. He jerked, but she held on fast. "Belle—"

"I'm only checking it," she insisted with finality. There was no deterring her. She exposed his cut to the world and it stung as the breeze caressed it.

The blood oozed in droplets, the sight of it making Rumpel stick his head out the window. He didn't have a great problem with blood from other people, but this was _his _blood. It was supposed to stay inside his body, unshed. Who knew the ex-Dark One would be so queasy?

"Don't be getting any blood on the seats," the man complained from the front. Belle quickly patched his wound back up with the napkin. "If you got a problem, try the hospital."

Rumpel could sense the moment that all eyes landed on him. To them, the hospital seemed like a good suggestion. Unfortunately, it wasted too much of his time.

"Our top priority is finding my son. The hospital can wait," he said, not bothering to spare either of them second glances. There was a moan of the seats as someone shifted—Emma.

"So, what do you want us to do if you collapse on the street? What happens if you keep on bleeding and it takes us days to find your son?" A rough chortle came from the front of the cab. It was not unlike the grunt of a pig.

"Lady, if your friend bled for days, you wouldn't need a doctor. You'd need a funeral parlor. He'd be dead."

The blunt statement hung in the air between them, ominous despite the driver's oblivious sarcasm. In a matter of seconds, this unremarkable stranger had efficiently spoken aloud the fear that plagued their minds since the discovery of Rumpel's price. It disconcerted him, but such worry was meaningless.

It didn't change anything.

"Mr. Gold…"

Belle longed to speak his true name; he could hear it underneath the alias. Her tone laced with unease, she latched onto his shoulder. He bit harshly on the inside of his cheek until he tasted the metallic tang of blood. Now he bled in two places.

He truly did hate to see Belle become so frazzled on his behalf, but what could be done of it? It was like questioning the blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the need to breathe.

It was pointless.

"Even if I did agree to go to the hospital, nothing could be done to prevent this. Nothing those doctors could do with all their medicine and knowledge would make any difference. It won't stop until I find my son," he insisted. Oh, boy, the cab moved a miraculous inch. "How far along is 42nd Street?"

The driver exchanged glances with him in the mirror.

"That way. Right along this street here," he pointed to one of the busy streets up ahead. "Why—"

The driver was silenced with a flurry of money. In a shot, Rumpel emerged from the cab even though it was in the middle of the street. Horns blared violently as he navigated around the countless taxi cabs, aiming for the sidewalk.

"You can't just walk out into oncoming traffic," Emma protested shortly behind him. _What are you planning to do, Sheriff? Arrest me? You're far out of your jurisdiction. _His hip bumped the hood of a car as it edged forward and he glared at the driver through the windshield.

"It's not going anywhere," he tossed over his shoulder. Beyond the cars, he could make out the signs that claimed the street ahead as 42nd Street. The sidewalk was close, just two more lanes of cars…

That was the when the next wave of nausea hit him with the impact of one thousand bricks. The yellow sheen of a nearby taxi blinded him momentarily as it rushed up to meet him. He couldn't recall his thigh ramming into the hood as he went down, he couldn't catch the frantic questions or cries for 9-1-1.

All he could see above him was the overcast sky. All he could smell beyond the suffocating gas of the taxis was fresh chili dogs being sold by a vendor not five feet away. For a brief instant, his hearing exploded with the sharp crack of a baseball bat from a small television inside a shop window, someone having turned it up too loud for all to hear.

And then he blacked out.

….

_Beep….beep…beep…_

White light, incessant beeping. Tendrils of drowsiness seeped through his mind, making it sluggish. A dull throb persisted in his leg, but it wasn't in his bad leg. His nose was begging to be scratched, but first he had to muster up the strength to open his eyes fully.

Was he…dead?

Decidedly not.

The white light lessened in intensity, thick black lines creasing through it and spreading like spider-web until his brain registered that it was a tiled ceiling. Beneath him was a terribly flat mattress with metal rails—a hospital bed. He tried to recall what happened, but it was still a blur.

Gods, his nose itched something fierce. He carefully lifted a hand to relieve it of the torture. Ah, that was better.

"Rumpel," a soft voice called out to him from somewhere on his right. If the white light still confused him, he might have mistaken it for the lilting voice of an angel. It was something far better: Belle.

She was curled up in an armchair next to his bed, a book dutifully resting in her lap. It was one of the books she had anticipated in starting. Yet, her finger held a place halfway through.

How long had he been out? How long had Belle remained by his side, neglecting food and drink? Knowing her, she had never strayed for even a moment lest he wake up alone in a foreign place. Depending on the time lost, her bladder must be on the verge of bursting.

Devotion in its purest form.

"You needed two stitches in your finger to close the wound," she informed him.

He drew his other hand out from underneath the crisp white sheets and eyed the crude handiwork on his finger. It was an angry red and slightly swollen, but it would do. Something else tugged on his mind, some small detail, but it was out of reach…

"How long have I been unconscious?" Hours? Half a day? A week? Every second lost was another second he drifted further from his son. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Inevitably, his eyes took it upon themselves to seek out a clock in the room, but there was none. Belle laid her book aside and got up from the armchair. She glided over and carefully offered her his hand. It was done gently as she tried to avoid brushing his stitches.

"An hour and a half. You kept slipping in and out. The doctors speculated it as a mixture between blood loss and dehydration. I asked them to let you keep the shawl," she said, pinching the tan fabric between her fingers. Not for the first time, he found himself lucky to have Belle.

"Where are Emma and Henry?" The room was oddly quiet without their other two companions. He half-expected Emma to be waiting with a scowl on her face and the words _I told you so_ falling from her lips.

"Henry grew hungry, so he went to get a snack from the vending machine. Emma hasn't returned from the bathroom." Belle looked to the doorway as if the two people in question might appear at that very second. Summoning only seemed to work in his case. "Oh, and you're no longer bleeding. You see? You were paranoid for no reason."

That was it. That was the detail that nudged his brain. His bleeding had stopped. Surely his price could not already be paid? But that wasn't supposed to happen unless…

Dare he hope? Or was he doomed to tear open his stitches the minute he flexed his hand or retrieved his cane?

"My son. He must be here. There can be no other explanation for my cessation in bleeding," he exclaimed, shoving the sheets aside. He was glad Belle had convinced the doctors to leave his dress shirt and pants, even if his shoes and jacket were conspicuously missing.

"Right. It couldn't be because there are two stitches holding your wound closed. That logic hardly makes sense," Belle boldly replied. He gaped at her in astonishment while he shrugged on his suit jacket.

"Is that sarcasm I detect from my sweet girl?"

Belle cracked a smile, her cheeks flushing. He didn't know whether it was due to guiltiness for the use of sarcasm or the fact that he had called her his girl. Either way, he liked how she continued to hold her chin high.

"That's what I get for being in a car and a plane with you and Emma at the same time."

He couldn't fault her for exhibiting some of his traits what with the time they'd spent together, but he would prefer it if she did not start resembling Emma Swan. One was enough for him to handle. Next he supposed she would be wearing leather….and rocking it, too.

"Are you sure your son is here?" He grabbed up his cane and gestured for her to follow him. Her quick steps slapped against the linoleum floor, creating a strange melody with the tapping of his cane.

"Positive," he answered immediately, heading for the hallway. Hmm…no sign of a leather-clad blonde anywhere. He cursed under his breath. "Where is Emma?"

…..

She hadn't meant to stray too far.

Her primary goal was to locate a bathroom, use said bathroom, and venture back to Gold's hospital room to wait out the minutes it took him to wake up. It had been over an hour already. He must have hit that taxi harder than she thought.

That's what he got for walking into traffic.

Somewhere on the way back, she passed a room where a nurse was entering with a vase of flowers. It instantly reminded her of the volunteering Mary Margaret used to do at the hospital in Storybrooke and a wave of homesickness enveloped her before she could shake it off. She had been so ready to forget about that room and whichever patient lay sick in bed…

…except for the moment when she caught a glimpse of the patient over the nurse's white shoulder.

Immediately, her feet skidded to a definite stop. Everything around her seemed to fade into the background as her focus stayed glued on the man in that hospital bed. Her stomach felt like it had exploded into smithereens, her fingers itching with pins and needles as they twitched at her sides.

It couldn't be…and yet she couldn't deny what her eyes were telling her.

No.

"E-Excuse me," she choked out. Startled, the nurse spun around, the vase nearly toppling off the bedside table. Emma rushed forward and caught it before it fell. "Sorry. How long has he been here?"

She tried not to look down at his face, but it was impossible. He was in a coma. An oxygen mask covered his mouth, helping him breathe. An IV spiraled from his arm while a machine beeped and kept track of his vital signs. Bruises covered his arms and some spots on his face, yellowed from having partly healed.

"Are you related to him?"

The nurse trained a skeptical eye on her. What did she think she was going to do? Roll him out into the hallway and make a run with him? Maybe in a romantic comedy that would work, but Emma hardly associated the word romance with him.

"I'm his…fiancée," she hurried with an excuse. It sent a nail through her heart, the memories threatening to float back to the surface. The anguish on her face must have convinced the nurse, for she stepped aside to allow her to see him more fully.

"My condolences, honey. It's about time someone came for him. Poor dear hasn't had anyone sitting by his bedside. He's been here…oh, about a week," she said, joining Emma's side to gaze down upon him. She watched his chest struggle to rise and fall and she longed to reach out and touch him. Just to know if he was real.

She wanted to ask about the source of his injuries, but figured that would give her away to the nurse. She was supposed to be his fiancée; how could she not be aware of his circumstances? Luckily, the nurse was the talkative type.

"I was on duty the day they wheeled him in, too. That car accident must have been a nasty one. I've never seen a face so pained in unconsciousness. I would offer you his belongings, but this was the only thing he had with him."

The nurse walked over to the bedside table and laid her fingers on a thin piece of paper. Emma craned her neck to see it—a postcard. The name of the place, written in big orange letters, froze her in place. She drew in a breath.

"Would you like a minute with him?" The nurse looked like she wanted to give Emma a helping hand to keep her steady, but Emma shook off the anxiety. She nodded fervently. The nurse hesitated for a moment before heading to the door. "I'll be right outside…if you need anything."

The minute she was gone, Emma stumbled over to the bedside table and swept up the card. On the top side of it was that word again, swimming wildly in her vision. It didn't make sense, even though her mind read the title perfectly. _Storybrooke. _

Tentatively, she flipped the card over. There was only one word on the back.

_Broken_

…..

She wasn't in the women's bathroom—Belle had gone in to check. She wasn't at the vending machines, but then neither was Henry. She wasn't any of the dozens of people—nurses and patients alike—that swarmed about them in the hallway.

Where the hell could Emma possibly disappear to in a hospital?

"Excuse me," he signaled a nurse's attention, standing outside hospital room 108.

He was amused that the nurses in this world did not wear out-of-style white getups with the little white hats in their curls. Regina desperately needed to keep up with the times. This nurse wore a simple white uniform shirt decorated with wide-eyed puppies. How charming.

"By any chance, have you seen my…daughter? She's just as tall as I am, blonde, wearing a red leather jacket, deadly serious…" Recognition flashed in the nurse's eyes, followed hastily by cloudy remorse.

"Oh, yes. You have my condolences, sir," she softly replied. She even dared to lay a tender hand on his arm in comfort. Belle stared down at it with a frown. There was an interesting question to ask his fiancée—was she the jealous type?

"Why? All I did was faint in the street," he protested, brow furrowing. He hardly thought that called for gift baskets and Hallmark cards. The nurse mirrored his expression. Wait…what exactly was she talking about?

"I meant the tragedy with her fiancé," she corrected.

Now he was lost. Tragedy? Fiancé? Emma left to go to the bathroom in a hospital and she got _engaged?_ What did she do; stumble into a cancer patient's room, felt terrible for their condition, and asked them to marry her to make them happy in their last days?

No, that was more up Mary Margaret's alley.

The blank look on his face clearly set off alarms in the nurse's head.

"Let me see her," he insisted, flitting past into the hospital room. The nurse retreated as he made it clear this was to be a private conversation. Warily, she returned to the nearby nurse's station.

Well, this room was certainly better than the one he had. Henry was there in the hospital room with a red pack of Twizzlers in hand, his little face scrunched in confusion as he observed his mother. And Emma…

Emma was hunched over a patient in a hospital bed, though he could not yet see his face. Her back was facing the doorway, her shoulders sagged with distraught. It looked like she barely took a breath.

"You found someone, dearie?"

She snapped her head up and fumbled for a second, giving him the opportunity to view the patient in question. It was a man in his late thirties at least, with a thick head of chocolate-brown hair. Lines of sorrow etched his face, particularly the corners of his closed eyes. This man hadn't laughed properly in a long time.

Was it….could it possibly be…?

But the anguish haunting Emma's emerald eyes threw him off.

"Do you know this man?"

Emma tore her gaze from the coma patient, albeit reluctantly. She crossed her arms and pretended to be neutral in her attitude. He had glimpsed the fierce emotion and he read her all too well; she was hiding behind that wall again.

What was she afraid of?

"No. The flowers just…reminded me of Mary Margaret," she whispered flatly. She sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve. His fingers curled over the head of his cane. If it had been his injured hand, his stitches would have ripped open.

She was lying.

"And I suppose the flowers are the reason for your pain? Do not lie to me," he hissed when she opened her mouth to argue. He caught sight of the postcard on the table and strode over to retrieve it. His mind bristled with awe as he scanned the words.

_Storybrooke….Broken…_

It must be true.

"You're in luck, Emma. I believe you found my son," he mused quietly as he wandered to the patient's bedside. Belle rested her head against his shoulder, silently congratulating him. At last, his son. If only his boy could sense his papa here, if only he could open his beautiful eyes and smile. _Oh, Bae…what has become of you? _

"That can't be your son," Emma blurted out. He whirled to her, his eyelids narrowing in suspicion. Belle reeled him back with a hand clasping his sleeve.

"Why is that? What aren't you telling me, Miss Swan?"

Emma fidgeted uncomfortably, her focus swaying from him to Bae to Henry and back. The air was heavy as thick, curling fog as he awaited the truth. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Because…because that man is Henry's father."

….

_**And now to thank all those wonderful reviewers—you guys are too amazing for words! A big thank-you goes to Huntress4455, PanicAtTheEpicness, Jennifer, discotimelord, Grace5231973, obsessed (thanks for the 500**__**th**__** review), aradiaeva, cheesyteal'c, The Auburn Girl, and SwanQueen4055. **_

_**I've actually been kind of thinking of using Neal as Bae for a while for this story—I guess Manhattan followed the same thread. What did everyone think of the latest episode, anyway? I only have one sentence to sum up my feelings of it: I love Robert Carlyle. (-; **_


	45. Chapter 45

_**A/N: This chapter took a little longer to update than I thought it would, mainly because I wanted to make sure it came out right. It's extra-long, too—a treat for my readers. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

It was tremendously silent in Neal Cassidy's hospital room as Emma's past-due revelation sunk in. It echoed throughout the small sterile room, bouncing mockingly off the walls. Rumpel could barely breathe, barely move, as the impossible became reality. Thanksgiving just became his least favorite holiday—that dinner would require three bottles of wine to sit through.

Someone must have hit the play button since Henry Mills lurched forward, ready to confront his virtuous mother on this long-hidden truth. His little face contorted with confusion. No doubt Emma had just slipped a few inches off her mighty pedestal. Rumpel looked at the precocious boy with new interest.

_This…is my grandson? Henry…my grandson? _

_"He's_ my father?"

Henry pointed directly to the man Emma used to know, now confined to a hospital bed. Those tubes and machines would make anyone look small. Rumpel gripped the metal bedrail for support. The relief over finding his son coupled with the shock of this latest admission sent him reeling. He kept glancing back and forth between Emma and Bae.

"You and him…you and my son…you two know each other?"

Rumpel made it sound like Emma had killed someone, his voice tainted with malice. He supposed it was a good thing he liked Emma—if it were any other girlfriend, she'd be forced to pass his inspection. The savior dating his son…how much higher status could be achieved?

"I should hope they did," Belle murmured softly. Rumpel spun and gave her a bewildered look. _Whose side are you on? _But she simply returned his unwavering stare until he ultimately broke eye contact.

"Not anymore," Emma gruffly countered.

She avoided Rumpel's searing gaze, refusing to answer to his prying questions. Just because Neal was Rumpel's son didn't mean he had to know _everything. _Fortunately—and equally unfortunately—Henry blocked Emma's view of Neal and his father.

"You told me he was dead! That he died in a fire as a hero. Who is he, really?" Emma's mouth mimicked that of a fish, opening and closing soundlessly. Her mind blanked out—she could not satisfy Henry's demand for an explanation.

What was she supposed to tell him? His father set her up, landed her in jail where she birthed Henry alone? That he was a thief who didn't know where his next meal was going to come from? That she had been the same way, her precious Bug a stolen car that somebody in this world must have missed?

His resolve crumbled under her reluctance to explain.

"What else have you lied about?"

The abrupt accusation hit Emma hard, her demeanor shattering into pained guilt. She tried to reach out and touch him, comfort him, reassure him that she wasn't Pinocchio for God's sake, but he ducked swiftly around her hand and raced for the door.

"Henry!"

But he was already halfway down the hall, his sneakers slapping against the linoleum tiles and joining in a hollow rhythm with the convulsing of her heart.

So that's what that felt like.

….

Emma wished she wasn't twenty-eight years old—she could not summon up the energy it required to catch up to Henry. She felt the reluctance in her bones, her thigh muscles screaming as they pumped with adrenaline. It didn't help that her phone was ringing.

If that was a call from either of her parents informing her that they were enjoying their alone time together, there would be severe consequences when she returned home. A few temper tantrums to satisfy their regret of missing her childhood.

The only reason she stopped to dig out the phone was because Henry had decidedly quit running and found a window to perch in front of instead. It overlooked the city, but she could tell he didn't properly focus on any of it. His face twisted with a wild range of emotions: disappointment, anger, hurt, aching sadness that made her want to wrap him up in her arms and never let go.

It was incredibly difficult to tear her eyes away long enough to check the illuminated screen in regards to the incoming call. She moaned, but answered it. If she didn't, it would only make matters worse.

"Jefferson? Now is not a really convenient time," she instantly spouted into the phone. With her luck, he was calling to remind her to bring him back a souvenir, possibly a T-shirt that read _I Love New York_. She kept her eyes on Henry, but he blatantly ignored her.

"Nice to hear from you, too, Emma. I'm doing swell in this hospital, thanks for asking," he dramatically retorted, purposely making her feel guilty. She made a mental note to make up for it when their group got home from this crazy adventure. Maybe Gold would be nice and lend them the cabin in the woods.

Normally, she would be amused by Jefferson's eccentric behavior, but right now she was banging her head against the wall. Literally.

"Faked two seizures. Thought you ought to know before Whale calls you up with the false presumption that I'm heading for the magical hat in the sky. Honestly, I'm lounging in a hospital bed, sipping juice with an umbrella, and watching re-runs of _Bewitched_. This place should consider investing in cable."

Emma had failed to hear anything past 'seizures.' She was busy gawking idiotically. If she didn't start breathing properly, some doctor would probably call a code on her.

"Why?" There was something that sounded faintly like a rough snort. He better have a horse in that hospital room with him. If not, she'd return and really give him something to snort about.

"Well, so I can catch up on this latest season of _True Blood_, of course," he answered in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, even though he could not see it through the phone. "Don't you roll your eyes over my guilty pleasures, Emma. You must have some of your own."

Hm, maybe he knew her better than she gave him credit for.

"I meant, why did you fake two seizures?" A brief chuckle resounded in her ear.

"Oh, that. Why, for the free Jell-O and television, of course. What other reason should there be?" Emma leaned against the wall and raked a hand through her hair. Jefferson was more of a handful than Henry or any child, for that matter.

"And you don't think Whale will realize you're faking? He is a doctor," she pointed out.

Jefferson scoffed loudly through the phone, a tremendous _hah!_ From the sound of it, he was in stitches and in danger of rolling out of his hospital bed from working himself up into a laughing fit.

"Be reasonable, Emma. It's not like that Ph.D. of his is real. These overdramatic doctors on television could do a better job than him. Take this House guy, for example. Now he's a man that knows what he's doing." A noisy slurp caused Emma to hold the phone away from her ear. Must be the juice. "So, how is life in the Big Apple? Funny story—when we first arrived in this land, Regina actually believed there was a giant Red Delicious planted in New York."

Emma did not doubt that for a moment. Apples were Regina's specialty. Why not visit the biggest one of all?

Her green eyes flickered to Henry, whose small hands were curled fiercely around a railing and frowning prominently. A nasty black hole opened up in her stomach.

"Gold found his son, who happens to be in a coma. And I think my kid hates me at the moment," she muttered. She didn't mean to cast all her problems on Jefferson, but she needed to talk to someone. This was one problem she could not easily restore to happiness.

"Please, your kid does not hate you. He practically worships the ground you walk on, Princess. But, then any child would if they were stuck living with Regina for ten years," he replied smoothly. Emma's nails dug into the wallpaper, picking a hole through it. She drifted away from Henry so that he would not overhear.

"Not this time. I…I lied to him about his father. The one time he asked about him, I made up a story about how he had died heroically in a fire to spare him the truth of how his father was a common thief who knocked me up and set me up to be arrested. But he's here. Henry's father is Bae."

She slumped against a wall and listened for Jefferson's response. Would he side with Henry? Would he believe her, tell her she had been wrong? Maybe she had been, in a sense. It was too quiet on the other end.

"Your son…Henry's father is Rumpelstiltskin's…boy?" That was his main concern? Their screwed-up family tree? "Rumpelstiltskin is Henry's…_grandfather?"_ A small snicker betrayed his opinion on that matter. It sounded muffled, like Jefferson was burying his face into a pillow.

"Jefferson," she snapped, demanding his attention.

"Sorry. Slipped a little there. They don't call me the _Mad_ Hatter for nothing. Look, there are times in the course of parenting when you'll hear the words 'I hate you.' Thankfully, Grace hasn't reached that stage yet. Henry will forgive you. Just…tell him the truth. If there's one thing a child appreciates, it's honesty."

Emma allowed his advice to sink in. She wished him well with his case of seizures and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Then she took in a generous breath and headed back toward Henry's direction, preparing in her mind the words she would say.

She only hoped he would understand.

…

"Would you like to be alone with your son?"

Belle cautiously glanced between her still, solemn fiancé and the comatose man lying in the sterile hospital bed. A flash of memory eclipsed her mind—reclined on the floor of the cabin with Rumpelstiltskin, the comfort of his arms to hold her, and the incredible ache in his voice upon explaining just why the color brown was his favorite. _It's the color…of my boy's eyes._

If only his son would find the strength to open his eyes and verify that.

Rumpel's head lifted from the fist he had made from his hands, hovering near his mouth. His lip trembled—he was afraid. It took him a moment to register her question, his focus absorbed in memorizing every detail of his son's face. It was hardly the face of the child he had expected to find.

"No, stay. Please. When he wakes, I would like for him to meet you," he said, extending a palm in request for her hand. Belle was hesitant to comply. She interpreted his request as one borne out of a need for comfort instead of wanting to make an introduction.

"He doesn't have to meet me right away. His first moment should be with you," she reasoned.

He did not answer and so she eased his nervousness by placing her hand in his. Gently, he guided her into his lap. At first she thought she might unintentionally hurt him as her leg brushed his bad one and he winced. He tried to hide the discomfort, but she caught it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She attempted to stand, to ease her weight off his leg, but his arms encircled her waist. He bent his head forward and kissed her cheek.

"You could never hurt me, sweetheart. Here, shift a little this way. Gentle…there we are," he whispered into her hair once she was situated on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and he began to rock her softly. She didn't realize how tired she was from this overwhelming trip until her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing slowed.

"How will you wake him?"

That was the million-dollar question, the pivotal problem that separated him from ultimately reuniting with his son. He paused in the soothing motions of rocking and glanced over toward his son. His earth-brown eyes glazed over with longing.

"My son is not from this world," he whispered. He reached over and lightly touched his son's arm. Belle wondered if the deep shiver that issued through his body was a response to Bae's skin being slightly cold or the fact that it had been over 300 years since he had been granted the privilege of holding his son's hand. "The rules of true love should still bind to him, even in this world. It is the only type of magic that transcends realms."

He squeezed Bae's hand at the same moment that he turned his head to place a soft kiss on her forehead, between her brows. His message was not lost on her: he valued both of them, wanted both of them. The three of them, together.

"You're going to use true love's kiss," she surmised correctly.

He gradually released Bae's hand and brought it instead to Belle's chin. His thumb teasingly traced her bottom lip. She leaned her head into his hand, her lips willingly kissing the pad of his thumb.

"True love takes various forms. It does not only belong to lovers and spouses. Believe it or not, the love shared between a parent and a child can prove just as strong, if not stronger," he advised, not without great wisdom threaded through his voice. The love he felt for his son must have been powerful if he had strived so hard for three centuries.

Or else his regret was too deep a hole to fill.

Belle recalled how Rumpel explained the phenomenon of Emma breaking the curse by kissing Henry. In a moment where she was convinced her son lay dead in a hospital bed, she had professed her motherly love for him. The strength of her love for her child had been great enough to end their 28-year-long curse and free Henry from Regina's sleeping curse.

Could the same be said of Rumpel and his son?

"If this is a world without…._magic," _she breathed against his jaw, softly in case anyone should happen to overhear their conversation. According to Rumpelstiltskin, magic and this world did not mix well. "How can you be sure true love's kiss will work?"

A thoughtful expression passed over his face, smoothing out the worried lines etching his forehead. Even if true love was the most powerful magic of all, there was no guarantee that it would be effective enough so far from Storybrooke. They had crossed the line into a land without magic once more.

"I'll show you," he proposed.

His hands tenderly slipped across the apples of her cheeks, into the rich chestnut strands of her hair. Balancing her on his lap, he guided her face down to meet his and she made no move to resist. She licked her lips, her mind supplying the memory of his taste. _I love you, _she habitually thought a second before their lips pressed together in a chaste, delicate kiss.

The air shifted around them; at first Belle thought it was simply the static of their kiss, crackling with electricity along her veins. But this was different than anything she had ever felt. It was as though something were invading her personal bubble, blending unnaturally with her golden aura.

Or perhaps it was the opposite—the energy of their kiss penetrated outwards, through the dull, lackluster snow globe that enveloped the real world. A warm humming sensation thrived along her nerves, touching all the way from her eyebrows to her toes, curling with excitement. Her heart thrummed with an intensity that she was hopeless to name. Words would not do it justice.

It was…inviting.

It was…pure.

It was…._magic._

The kiss broke, but it did not leave her wanting. On the contrary, Belle was refreshed and open-minded, a wanderer finally arriving home. All she could taste was him, dancing on her tongue. She would savor that flavor forever.

"Tell me you felt that," he murmured against her neck, peppering it with tiny kisses and nips.

Belle opened her eyes and immediately noticed that their environment had drastically changed. It made her gasp aloud so that Rumpel's head shot up and he, too, detected the unfamiliar details.

They were still inside Bae's hospital room, but the room was brighter, almost painfully so. The sun's rays seemed impossibly golden, purer than they were a second prior; instead of giving her the moon, Rumpelstiltskin had offered her the beauty of the sun. The walls were whiter, stark as snow, as though someone had snuck in and coated them with fresh paint while they had been lost in their kiss. Even the tiles were less scuffed, the linoleum shinier and reflecting the light.

"Yes, I felt that," she answered, unable to keep the smile from sliding across her lips. Even Rumpel's suit looked more flattering than it had a moment before. It was fine-pressed, appearing as it would have had he taken an iron to it. It was a feat that Belle would have deemed impossible.

"It will work," Rumpel assured stubbornly, glancing over to his son. _It has to, _the unspoken words rang loud and clear in her ears. The elated smile slipped as she registered the solemn attitude plaguing him.

She sensed a change come over Rumpelstiltskin then. His brown eyes became distant with deep thought. The arm around her waist was stiff in posture and she wondered achingly if he could even feel her body lounging on his lap anymore. She knew there must be personal things he wanted to say to his comatose son—words that eluded him under the watchful eye of an audience.

So, she carefully rose to her feet. He would not willingly open himself up to others, only those he intended his words to be addressed to. And that was okay; he deserved this time alone with his son.

Rumpel tilted his head back questioningly. She smoothed down the ruffles of her skirt and forced an endearing smile.

"I think I'll get something from the vending machine. I'm rather hungry," she excused herself. One hand latched onto the crook of her elbow, the other delved into his pocket. The noise of crumpling paper broke the silence as he passed something rough into her palm.

"This should be enough," he said, releasing her elbow. She opened her palm to see a wad of dollar bills. The thought of freely spending his money caused her to retreat a step. She tried handing most of it back, but he held up his hand to deny it. "Please—take it. There's more where that came from given Mr. Gold's wealth in Storybrooke. I'd rather lose all the money in my pocket than let you starve, Belle. Besides, you are my fiancée, soon to be my wife. Our wealth is shared."

He waved the hand with the money away. Belle felt a tingling sensation in her body as his words echoed in her mind. They were to be married soon and he was more than willing to share his world with her. She pocketed the money and bent to kiss his cheek.

"Do you want anything?" She inquired politely before leaving.

His face contorted with consideration before he perked up in his chair. Childish glee danced in his eyes at the offer of sweets. It was something else she had learned long ago about Rumpelstiltskin, the supposedly fearsome Dark One and self-proclaimed beast—pleasing him was easy if she only knew how. Candy, hot fudge sundaes, a pleasurable massaging of his bad leg…

"Bring me back a pack of Twizzlers. Red package, the kind you peel," he requested, moving his fingers up and down to demonstrate. "You just put the money in and punch in the numbers that correspond with your choice of candy. The machine will do the rest."

She nodded and swept out into the hallway, purposely leaving Rumpelstiltskin to his own devices. Coming out of Bae's hospital room, the hall was incredibly dim and dull in décor. Someone should really consider adding a fresh coat of paint.

…..

"Kid," Emma decidedly used her longtime nickname for Henry as she approached his side. It was friendly and she prayed it would remind him of their simpler days. She made a show of whistling out her breath, her hands clutching her sides. "Have you ever considered doing cross country? The cramps in my muscles tell me you'd be a natural."

Henry turned his head—not in her direction as she expected, but to the right. It was as much a signal for her to buzz off as he could generate. From here, she could see how red his cheeks were and she suspected the running had very little to do with it.

"I have a name, you know," he muttered under her breath.

It was the same thing he once said to her in the front seat of her yellow Bug while she drove him home to Storybrooke. It winded her, struck her like a cruel whip. It had been a mistake not to call him Henry, she realized.

Strike one.

"Yeah, I know," she mumbled back half-heartedly. She bit down on her lip uncertainly. She thought she might have tasted the metallic tang of blood. "About your father—"

Like a wild tornado, Henry whirled around with the force of sheer frustration. It glinted in his eyes, dark and dangerous.

"I brought you pumpkin pie! Do you remember that? The day you told me about my father, I brought you a slice of pumpkin pie from the diner. I asked you if it was pumpkin in the story. You could have told me the truth. You chose not to."

Each word, no matter how heavy with truth, was deadly as a rusty nail piercing deeper and deeper into her heart, shedding blood through her guilt. She hung her head in remorse, the wisps of her blonde hair falling like a thin curtain around her face. Strike two.

There had to be something she could say to make him understand. She didn't—could not—lose her son now. Not after everything she'd been through. Jefferson's advice rang shrilly in her ears, but how much faith could she put in a man who just faked two seizures for the sake of Jell-O? Then again, what other options did she have?

Kneeling beside Henry, she grasped him steadily by the shoulders and forced him to look straight at her. _Please. _

"Henry, listen to me. I wanted to tell you about your father, but there was nothing good about my time spent with him. Just because I'm the savior doesn't mean I have good taste when it comes to men," she explained.

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. That was the understatement of the year—the first love of her life was a lowlife thief who broke her heart, the second is the Mad Hatter from Wonderland with tendencies to spy on people with a telescope and serve drugged tea. Next she supposed George Clooney would drop from the sky on her doorstep.

"I know you wanted your father to be a hero, a symbol of hope like Prince Charming. But, Henry, trust me when I say that Neal is the farthest thing from a Prince Charming candidate. That is why I told you that story. I wanted to give you something to believe in. I wanted to protect you."

What kind of savior was she if she was unable to protect that which meant dearest to her? But Henry wiggled out of her grip, shaking his head negatively.

"Protect me? I don't care if he's Prince Charming or not. All I asked for was the truth. I've been lied to for ten years by Regina. Break the cycle," he flared back, his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

Slowly, Emma rose to her feet and her gaze wandered past the window. She didn't see the skyscrapers or the billboard signs advertising the latest Broadway sensation. In her mind, she envisioned Henry's father popping up from the backseat of the Bug and startling her, exactly like Henry himself had done. _Tell him the truth. Break the cycle. _

"You want the truth, kid? Here it is," she sighed tiredly.

And she finally opened up. She finally told him everything.

It poured from her lips like a powerful flood issuing from a broken dam—the origins of her yellow Bug, the habit of stealing, living life with barely a cent to her name, the watches, being set up and landing in jail and ultimately birthing Henry alone. She recounted the story with Henry oddly absent of questions.

When she finished, he was dreadfully quiet. It was sinking in; she could tell by the way he avoided her gaze, his mouth twisting shrewdly as though he sucked on a lemon. She didn't know how much time passed before his fingers unfurled from the railing and wormed their way into her hand.

"Thank you for telling me. I figured you wouldn't unless I brought up the Queen," he said softly, grinning mischievously up at her. Emma gaped in amazement. She'd just been swindled by a ten year old! Why, that sneaky, little…the kid was more like his grandfather than his biological father!

"Really? You compared me to Regina?" That part hurt a little bit, stinging bitterly like a paper-cut that had salt rubbed into it. A tempting idea popped into her mind. It was time for payback. "Would the Queen do this?"

In a flash, her hands whipped toward him and she unleashed a troublesome friend known as the Tickle Monster. Her fingers scrabbled over his clothing, searching for those perfect, sensitive spots. Instantly, Henry burst into fits of giggles, his body squirming to escape her fingers. Tears streamed down his face. A couple of nurses glanced up as his legs crumpled against the railing, his screams of laughter echoing in the hall.

"O-okay, okay…stop, stop, stop! I surrender," he gasped pleadingly through the rough gales of stomach-tightening giggles. He weakly held his arms around his waist for mercy. Emma relented, allowing him to swallow shaky breaths. His grin mirrored that of the Cheshire Cat. She wished it would never fade. "The Queen wouldn't do that in a million years! No fair! I'm nearly eleven years old!"

Emma couldn't help smiling herself as he clutched at his sides to control the bursts of laughing. He hiccupped.

"You're never too old to succumb to the Tickle Monster," she argued, pointing a threatening finger at his chest. She and Henry observed the city of Manhattan through the window. Perhaps they would do this more often. The sight-seeing part, not the _quest-to-find-long-lost-son-whilst-bleeding-to-death_ part.

"You know, I don't think Regina even knows what the Tickle Monster is," Henry said with a small smile. Then his face scrunched in deep thought. "Does Jefferson know about the Tickle Monster?"

She choked out a chuckle as she briefly imagined climbing on top of Jefferson and introducing him to the Tickle Monster. God only knew how that experience would end. It brought a telltale blush to her cheeks.

"Tell you what: we'll test out that theory when we get home," she proposed. _Maybe it'll give him a better reason to flop around in that hospital bed instead of faking seizures. _

…

Belle traversed the halls in search of the vending machine, but her mind was stuck on Rumpel alone and miserable in Bae's hospital room. There'd be no moving him, either. God forbid if it took longer than a day for Bae to wake up, with Rumpel refusing to move or even eat—she'd have to force his mouth open and feed him through a straw.

Goosebumps skittered along the skin of her arms under the intense glow of the fluorescent hall lights. The clinical aroma of rubbing alcohol and medicine burned her nose. The nurses were different than the ones in Storybrooke. They wore colorful, cheerful uniforms and smiled kindly to her as they passed by. They didn't carry needles dripping with the fluid of a sedative or look ready to drag her away like Nurse Ratched.

_Stop being irrational, Belle. The only reason you suffered in that dreary place was because of Regina and Regina's not here, _she reasoned with herself. And yet, she could never shake the uneasy feeling she got whenever inside a hospital. Maybe she should talk it out with Archie when she returned to town, shake this phobia.

The vending machine was located near a generous-sized waiting room filled with parents and children. It caught her eye, stalling her movements. The bursts of laughter, the brightly papered walls plastered with funny cartoon images of lions, tigers, and bears, the comfort oozing from it as though it were anywhere besides a hospital.

For a moment, Belle lingered by the door and watched the children play with their toys on the carpeted floor, caught in a bubble of innocence. One woman swaddled her baby in a blue blanket and titled a bottle so that the child could feed and be lulled to sleep in the security of his mother's arms. It was so peaceful, observing such carefree happiness.

Out of nowhere came a startling notion—she wondered what it would be like to have a child with Rumpelstiltskin. To share something so delicate between them. She traced the cool blue gem of her engagement ring as she contemplated it. He would be a devoted father; she knew by the way he was fighting so hard for Bae. It could be….an adventure.

Then Belle shook her head and continued on her way. It had been a fleeting thought, nothing else. They still had to be married first. Having a child before marriage was absolutely ridiculous—everything would be backwards! Oh, what would her father think then?

The vending machine was an amazing to behold, at least for Belle. It was filled with rows of food, illuminated by a light somewhere beyond the glass. Belle dug out the money Rumpel had given her, but she did not move to put any of it in the machine.

There were so many choices! How was she to know precisely what she wanted?

"Can't figure out what you want?" A small voice rose from behind her, startling her. She jumped away from the machine and spun, her heart pounding in her throat. It was only Henry. "The same thing happens to me, too. I want to buy everything, but I only have money for one."

He eagerly joined her side and peered into the machine. His breath fogged up the glass, his nose nearly pressed against it. Belle glanced around for Emma, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Henry, did you wander off again? You really shouldn't do that to your mother. I thought you were going to have a talk with her," she inquired, choosing her words carefully. The kid sure did run off fast. The way he scurried out of Bae's hospital room, she knew he was hurting.

"I did. I'm hungry. Emma and I are sharing," he explained, pointing a finger to the snacks.

The kid pulled out a crisp dollar bill and slid it into the black tray above the numbers. The machine swallowed it whole and Henry punched in two numbers with a shrill _beep-beep. _The machine whirred and spat out a brown bag from one of the middle rows. Henry bent, thrusting his hand through a flap at the bottom to retrieve his snack.

Belle observed it with pure fascination.

"Too bad it's not king-size," Henry murmured lowly, shaking the brown bag in his hand.

Something rattled around inside. White bubble-letters on the front proclaimed the candy as M&Ms. Maybe she'd try those. Or there was a vibrant red bag with a funny name that slipped through her teeth—_Skittles. _And there were the Twizzlers Rumpel supposedly craved.

But first….

"What else would you like?" Belle knelt to Henry's level and offered up a few extra dollars. Henry's eyes widened with awe, but Belle didn't mind it since Rumpel gave her seven dollars in total. She told Henry as much.

Henry chose a bag of gummy worms, a thin package of Starburst, and a bar of chocolate. She hoped Emma didn't mind her son having so much candy. Caught up in his momentary joy, he flung his arms around Belle's waist and thanked her. It was so unexpected that she nearly toppled back. All she could do was laugh and return Henry's hug.

"Now, what shall I have? Any recommendations?" She looked to Henry questioningly. He scrunched his nose as he thought hard, scrutinizing every choice of snack. She hid her smile behind her palm. And then his face lit up with pure excitement.

"If you're going to try anything, try the Starburst. There are a lot of them inside the package and they're all different flavors. Very juicy," he said, pointing to the thin, rectangular yellow package.

"Sold," she declared enthusiastically and deposited the correct amount of money.

Henry watched her carefully—she felt like this was a test. The machine gobbled up the money, the bill quickly sliding out of her fingers. _D2, _she read the number under the Starburst and punched it in. Immediately, the Starburst spiraled out and dropped into the tray below.

And then something miraculous happened. The machine wasn't done—a second package of Starburst slipped from the rack and followed the first! Two for one.

"Wow, you're lucky! I guess the vending machine likes you," Henry commented, retrieving her Starburst for her. Belle wasn't sure whether to take it. Shouldn't they return it if they didn't buy it? Or was it really a token of good luck? Henry simply shoved the candy into her hands.

"Thank you," she whispered, more to the generous machine than Henry. The boy giggled and shook his head in disbelief. Belle's face contorted with confusion. "What's so funny?"

He tried to stifle the laughter, which only made it come out as a snort.

"Nothing. So, are you going to share those with Rumpelstiltskin? He loves candy."

Oh, right! Belle quickly fed the machine another dollar and ordered his Twizzlers. The machine dutifully gave them one pack, not two like it did with Belle. Maybe the machine didn't like Rumpelstiltskin enough.

It was a good thing Henry had reminded her about her fiancé—he would have been terribly disappointed if she failed to bring him back his Twizzlers. _Thank you, _she mentally acclaimed the machine.

"Hey, is my…is Baelfire awake yet?"

Henry walked alongside her down the hall, tearing open his bag of M&Ms. Turns out they were colorful, round little drops of chocolate. Henry stuffed a handful in his mouth at a time. Pity. Belle would have savored every single one.

It was then that Belle remembered something while processing Henry's question. If she did marry Rumpelstiltskin, not only would Bae be her stepson, but Henry would end up becoming her step-grandson. Perhaps she and Rumpel did not need to have a child yet. She was already being promoted to step-grandmother!

She was suddenly thankful for this moment with Henry.

"He wasn't awake when I left the room, but Rumpelstiltskin is planning on waking him with true love's kiss. The same way your mother woke you," she replied and dared to ruffle a hand through his brown hair. Henry smiled just as they turned the corner and he spotted Emma standing near a window, overlooking Manhattan.

"I hope it works," Henry exclaimed before rushing off the catch up with his mother. Belle watched solemnly as Henry offered Emma the chocolate bar. His words echoed in her mind.

She wanted to believe that more than anything in the world. If it failed to work, the pieces that needed sweeping up would be worse than any mess Rumpelstiltskin ever made in the Dark Castle. And that was saying something.

…..

Belle's footsteps faded in the hall, blending with the countless nurses and patients wandering about. He silently waited, not even moving, not even breathing, counting down one whole minute. He knew she did not need anything from the vending machine. Belle, bless her heart, had offered him a moment alone with Bae.

"Bae," he chanted as he edged forward in his seat by his son's bedside. "Your papa's here." Nothing.

Soon, sitting was unbearable and he leapt up from the chair to avidly pace the room in awkward strides. His nerves were jumping, overexcited; his brain was on fire, with no hope of cooling down; his fingers wrung together over his chest. A deep ache haunted his bones—for once, he felt every day his age of 350 years.

Or was it 351? He had lost track of the years.

Stopping in his tracks, he hunched over Bae's bedside and gazed down upon the child he had lost three centuries ago. His eyelids burned from wanting to flutter closed, but he did not dare blink. His boy…only, this boy had aged into a man. The youth had vanished from his face, the wily strength filled out in his arms and legs. There were even traces of a beard around his chin.

Checking over his shoulder, he saw no nurses darkening the doorway. Drawing back Bae's sheet, he exposed his limp legs. He drew a sharp breath in and quelled the sob in his throat.

There, a few inches under his knee, was a scar that spanned under the curve of his knee.

It was the same one Bae had in his childhood, after the day he'd turned that man into a snail and crushed him. Bae's scar had never healed properly; his finger was tracing the length of it with too much familiarity. Was it another price of magic? A price for killing that man? But, he'd been defending his son—

No. There went the convenient excuses again. That was what Bae had been warning against as a child, those petty excuses he used to embellish his magic any way he liked. Oh, gods, he was right.

Rumpel draped the sheet back over his son's legs. He repeated Bae's name in his head, willing him to stir, knowing all the while that he never would without some kind of miracle. Bae…his true name that was not displayed on his medical chart.

What was the name he had chosen for himself? Ah, yes…Neal Cassidy. It left a bitter, unfamiliar taste on his tongue, rivaling against the sweet flavor of Belle's kiss.

Where did he live? Was he happily engaged to a beautiful woman? Married? Did he have children besides Henry? Or was he fated to be a loner in this world that was not his own, trusting no one because of a broken promise? What did he prefer for breakfast, did he reminisce the lullabies his father used to sing him to sleep as a child, did he remember how to laugh, did he ever catch a vibrant sunset and think of the fields that was once their home?

Did he even remember…at all?

For the first time, the extent of Rumpel's mistake weighed excruciatingly on his shoulders. It punched through his chest, tore his beating heart out, crushed it in an iron fist until it was nothing more than dust. He didn't know anything about his son…anymore.

He did not know his son.

Would he even have recognized his son if he passed by on the street here in New York? Or would he not even give a second glance, carried on his way with Belle on his arm, searching for that strong-willed fourteen year old who had once been proud to call Rumpelstiltskin his papa?

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't even realized he had fallen to his knees until his anguished forehead rested against the cold bedrail. His hands quivered as he gripped it. The discomfort in his leg was no match for the torment in his heart. The stitches on his finger ripped open, the blood running warm along his fingernail, but he no longer cared.

_What have I done? _

"Oh, Bae…I never wanted it to be this way. You must know that," he whispered, stroking his son's hair back from his face. He bent over the bed, examining every detail. The words wouldn't stop—he had been holding them in his lungs for too long and now they exploded in one burst of emotion. Everything he should have said, passing through his lips. "I…I have no excuse for the suffering I put you through. I tried so hard not to be the coward my father was, but I ended up one, anyway. If not physically, then magically. For so long, magic was my crutch. So much that I lost sight of what truly mattered to me."

Rumpel closed his eyes and pictured his boy in the light of that blood-red sunset, the curls of his brown hair forever falling into his eyes.

"You, Bae. It will always be you. I thought…I was a fool, Bae. I thought you could be happy, that I could give you anything your heart could desire. There was a time you told me that all you wanted was your father. And I gave you the opposite. I left you fatherless in a world you didn't understand."

Just as that wretched Seer had foretold. It never mattered what path he chose-there was no escaping fate. But why did his son have the ill fate of growing up fatherless? What had he done to ensure such a cruel life for his child? What had it been for?

Rumpelstiltskin lightly took up his son's hand and squeezed it. He longed to feel some kind of pressure in return, some sign that would tell him his son was inside that beaten, limp body and that he was listening. Nothing.

"Bae…I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to be alone and fatherless. I should have gone with you, Bae. You were right about everything. But now….your papa's here. Not the one that dropped you alone into that swirling vortex, but the one you yearned for so badly. My magic is gone. Do you hear this? I found a way, Bae. My curse is broken. All I want is you…your happiness. Please."

He craned his head low over Bae's bed, brushed aside the stray strands across his son's placid face. If only he could look into his son's eyes, just once more and see him smiling in return. Just to see that flash of recognition as he understood that his father had finally come for him. He clenched his own eyelids shut, the ache overwhelming.

"I love you, Bae," he whispered sincerely with every inch of his being. Softly, he kissed Bae's forehead and waited. He repeated the words over in his mind: _I love you….I love you…_He waited and waited.

Nothing happened.

"No….no….please…."

He murmured desperately, fingers scrabbling over Bae's hospital gown and emotionless face. It wasn't working. Bae wasn't waking up. But why? There had been no telltale shift in aura, no magical whoosh of power like he'd felt with Belle. No true love's kiss.

How could that be when he cherished his boy so much?

Unless…

It had nothing to do with the love he felt for Bae and the relief upon finding him again. Hadn't he just poured out his soul? No, it wasn't anything on his part that was compromising the magic of true love's kiss. It was Bae. The only other reason it would fail where Belle's kiss hadn't was if…

If his son no longer loved him.

It couldn't be true. Not his boy. It couldn't….

After he'd worked so hard to find him! After everything he'd done to reach this land! He didn't realize he was slamming his palm repeatedly against the bedrail until the pain sliced through his hand. Blood lined his lifelines, staining his skin a scarlet shade.

Firm hands guided him up to his feet and propelled him into the chair. He bared his teeth, wondering what kind of imbecile dared to tear him away from his son. It was a male nurse that had heard the ruckus and stepped in. His mouth formed words, but Rumpel could not make sense of them. They were drowned out by the sound of blood rushing through his ears, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

His boy didn't love him anymore. His mistake and betrayal had been too great. The sacrifices, the years lost, the darkness…it had all been for nothing. It was infinitely worse than if Regina had succeeded in driving his dagger through his cold heart.

He was vaguely aware of the male nurse working on his ripped stitches. He wrapped a bandage around his palm to protect the newly formed wound on his hand. The nurse said something or other about being forced to leave if he acted up this way again. Rumpel barely felt it when the nurse lowered his hand and gave it a reassuring pat. He was numb all over, his brown eyes trained on his son's face.

"Were you talking to him?" The nurse annoyingly inquired, jerking his head toward Bae. Why couldn't he turn his backside and go fix some other patient? Why not hand a sick child a balloon or fill out grueling paperwork at the nurse's station? Leave. "Rumor has it that they're still in there, you know? That they can hear every word you say."

_Is that true, Bae? Are you listening in there? _Nothing but silence and endless beeping. He had a feeling that even that much was a kindness he did not deserve.

….

"You'll never believe what happened with the vending machine. It gave me two packs of these Starburst instead of one. Don't worry, I still ordered your Twizzlers," she announced as she strode into Bae's hospital room, dangling the package of Twizzlers between her fingers.

The minute she stepped over the threshold, she knew something was wrong.

For one thing, Bae's eyes were still closed, his hands limp by his sides atop the crisp sheet, the machines droning on with their incessant beeping. Rumpelstiltskin hunched in the chair by the bed, his back arching like that of a gargoyle. His head sunk into his hands, his thumbs kneading his forehead. His normally flawless hair was tousled and ragged, shielding his face in one thick curtain.

He looked like a man in the throes of despair.

"It didn't work….did it?"

Her own voice was tainted with melancholy while he refused to meet her eye. He drummed his fingers against his forehead and she caught sight of a new bandage wrapped around his palm. Ever so carefully, she laid the candies on the bedside table and clasped his wounded hand. She peeled the bandage back to see the gruesome cut across his palm. It turned her stomach with fresh despair.

Oh, the poor dear.

True love's kiss had failed and he must have broken down severely. Why, it had to have taken something solid and sharp to ravage his hand that way. Something…like that bedrail.

She secured the bandage around his hand again and brought it up to her lips so that she could lay a gentle kiss on the gauze. He barely moved his hand in response. What he needed was a dose of comfort and hope.

"There must be a good reason—" She placed her hand on his shoulder. She might as well have used those strange electrical paddles, what with the way he jolted out of his seat.

Instantly, she sensed it was worse than she originally feared. Rumpelstiltskin was in a rage—it had occurred the night he kicked her out of his castle. A blinding red haze that cloaked his mind, his ears unwilling to listen to a word of logic. His eyes were bleary, his stance rigid in defense, his hands curled into fists by his side.

"Reason? Oh, there's a remarkable reason! There's a reason for everything! But no one ever includes the details-oh, no! We're living in a storybook without the beginning or end, dearie. Would you care to digest it like one of your sensible books? Here's your reason—my son _does not love me! _It's all been for naught! If only Her Infernal Blindness had foretold that!"

Her…Infernal…Blindness? Foretold?

She might have assumed he spoke of Regina, except the Queen wasn't blind or able to predict the future. At least Belle hoped not. What nonsense was spouting inside his head?

"Rumpel…" She crooned, reaching out to him. Her fingertips caressed his cheek, sweeping the hair back from the edge of his face. He grew stiff under her touch. "There must be another logical reason. We're far from Storybrooke, after all. You're his father. You honestly believe he hates you?"

"Why not? It seems perfectly logical to me. Bae has every reason to hate me. The kiss failed, Belle. Failed. It worked for you—" He pointed an accusing finger at her chest. Then he gestured one to his unmoving son. "—but not for him. What other explanation is there?"

The rage drained abruptly from his body, his legs collapsing. He sank back into the chair and returned to his previous position, as though the last two minutes hadn't happened. He raked his fingers through his hair, his muscles convulsing underneath the fabric of his charcoal suit.

It pained her to see him in such a miserable, self-loathing state.

Belle approached the arm of his chair and leaned on it. She weaved her fingers into his dark hair and urged him to her, a hand rubbing across his back. Seeking her comfort, he shifted his head to the side and buried his face into her belly. He was a trembling child; she held him close, his cheek resting above her abdomen.

"I don't know what to do, Belle," he murmured truthfully into the material of her blouse. She never imagined hearing those words from the brilliant, perceptive dealmaker. She was almost inclined to check his temperature like a concerned mother. "Maybe…I'm meant to let him go."

The strings of her heart tugged violently. She had always been a woman of both logic and faith—never black and white, but swimming somewhere in a sea of gray. A pool of possibilities.

This couldn't be it. How could such a demanding journey end so fruitlessly?

"No," she retorted, harsher than she meant it. His head craned back so that he was able to gaze up at her wonderingly. She pulled his head away from her belly and cradled it between her hands. "You are not doing this to yourself. Do you hear me? You are not giving up on your son, Rumpelstiltskin. No taking the easy way out once the going gets tough. There is a part of you that wants to fight for him—look at the energy and time you've spent trying to find him. It doesn't end here. Fight for him. There must be another way. And you and I will find it."

His eyes widened in awe, inspired by her glorious speech. One of his hands lifted to trace the back of her wrist. He nodded weakly.

"We'll find a way," he repeated, tasting the words on his lips. Belle smiled—that attitude was a much better shade on him. She approvingly kissed his forehead, which was lined with too much anxiety.

She got up for a moment to retrieve the pack of Starburst. She took one for herself, unwrapped the colorful paper, and popped it in her mouth. Ooh, Henry was right; it was incredibly juicy. And yet so solid….what contradiction was this?

She wandered back to Rumpel and dangled an unwrapped pink cube of Starburst in front of his mouth. Bending his head forward, he gratefully accepted it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against her fingers.

They ate half the pack together in silence. Ideas were hard to come by and the candy gave them a distraction. Then he laid a hand on her wrist, making her pause in scrabbling for another orange Starburst.

"Belle…I have a favor to ask. Would you….read to him? In case he's listening."

It was the best favor he could ask of her—the task of reading. It also startled her. She wondered if Bae was aware under the vegetative veil of the coma and listening to every word spoken. Maybe having someone kindly read to him would trigger something.

Gladly, she picked up her volume of Grimm fairy tales. Settling comfortably with Rumpelstiltskin in his chair, she cracked her book open and started to tell a tale as old as time. Rumpel nestled his head against his fiancée's side as she read softly. He felt like he hadn't properly rested his eyes since leaving Storybrooke.

The delicate, soothing lullaby of her voice allowed the tempting wave of sleep to take him away.

….

There must have been a draft in Bae's hospital room. Out of nowhere, Rumpel felt an invasive chill slither down his back. An icy wind blew right through his suit, lifting the stray strands of hair from his forehead. Did Belle open a window? Was there a tornado brewing?

His hand snaked out from underneath his body, searching blindly for Belle. The tips of his fingers tingled with pins and needles, difficult to control as his hand flopped this way and that. Something rough brushed his palm, crinkling like ancient parchment.

Where was Belle?

He rolled over and searched elsewhere. His hand landed on something odd-shaped, dry, with awkward edges…the picture formed in his mind the more he fumbled with the object. It was…it was…

A pinecone.

What in the world was a pinecone doing in Bae's hospital room? The wind swept over his body, cooler than ever before. Tentatively, he opened his eyes to see that pinecone clutched in his hand. It was sitting atop a scattering of autumn-colored leaves.

Leaves. Pinecones. What in gods…? How…?

Bolting upright, he examined his unfamiliar surroundings. Dread eclipsed his heart and numbed his veins with ice-water. _I don't think I'm in Manhattan, anymore, _he thought wryly.

Trees…nothing but trees around him, creating a barrier on the fringe of a clearing. These trees were not the ordinary trees that lined quiet suburban streets, either. These were natural trees, sturdy and old, that stretched impossibly high into the sky, creating a deep-green canopy above his head. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in wisps, barely enough to illuminate the clearing.

How did he manage to wander into a forest?

"Belle," he called out, to no avail. Stumbling to his feet, his cane lost somewhere, he wandered among the circle of trees. "Bae?"

Neither of them were anywhere in sight. He was in the middle of a forest alone.

His cries echoed, bouncing off the trunks of the trees before fading into nothing but a whisper. It was followed by the shrill screech of a hawk soaring through the sky. He spun, glancing every which way. No shadows to mark another human presence, no sign of movement in his chest.

"Alone," he murmured solemnly with a dull ache in his chest.

"No, not alone. You simply are not in the company of your preference."

That voice. There was no mistaking it. No matter how many centuries had passed, no matter how much his sanity slipped during his reign as the Dark One, that voice had never faded from his memory.

After all, this journey had truly started with her, hadn't it?

He slowly pivoted on his feet, the soles of his shoes crunching the brown leaves. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end—this had to be an illusion.

There she was, blending in perfectly with the environment in her tattered, moss-green rags. Frizzy, auburn curls framed the wise face of what should have been a young girl. Even as a child, she had been destined for something more ominous, resigned to a harsh life should anyone indulge in her perceptive services. Crude black stitches marred her face, spiraling around her nose in a sloppy curve, substituting her eyelids. The skin pulled tightly over the bone of her forehead.

And her hands…two bright blue eyeballs in place of her palms. That detail had always made him uneasy; his throat closed up as he struggled not to gag in displeasure. He was so thankful he did not inherit that particular feature. High-fives must be painful.

"You," he hissed through his teeth. He narrowed his eyelids in warning, though she merely tilted her head challengingly. "You are dead."

Unbelievably, she elicited a throaty giggle. Beneath her dry, tasteless lips were rows of unsavory, grisly teeth, reflecting yellow with the sun. He scrunched his nose in disgust. Was this how people generally felt about his lack of personal hygiene in this world?

This world…he understood without a doubt where he was standing. The Enchanted Forest. This was a dream. It had to be.

"Physically, not spiritually. Death is a vague concept. One can die countless ways before the hourglass officially wastes its purpose. One can perish in body, only to be resurrected in other forms. I haunt your subconscious, don't I? Why, Rumpelstiltskin, why?"

He winced in wake of her nonsensical ravings. Always eluding the details. He pointed a finger in accusation, though he made sure to keep his distance.

"You tell me. You are the all-powerful Seer," he retorted sharply. The Seer's arms spread languidly by her thin sides, her fingers flexing like a child reaching for something denied her. Her head inclined back, the streams of sunlight highlighting her grimy cheeks.

"Not anymore…remember?" Oh, he remembered that day all too well for his liking.

It was shortly after he lost Bae that he was urgently summoned to an isolated clearing much like this one. It was that gift of foresight that had inevitably sped up his madness in the Enchanted Forest. The overwhelming puzzles of what may be forever mixing with those of what will be with his mind helpless to make sense of it. In his prison cell, those glimpses were all he had for entertainment.

But now he sneered at the haggard creature previously plagued with that troublesome gift.

"I see your curse is broken. Belle is more than a pretty face, yes? A beauty taming the beast," she taunted, flicking her dirt-encrusted nails in his direction. He cringed as though acid had landed on his skin. How dare she utter the purity of Belle's name?

Growling, he swiftly bent to snatch up a sturdy branch he hadn't consciously been aware was on the ground. Taking three strides, he swung it forcefully at the Seer's head, only she wasn't there anymore. The weapon zoomed right through the space where her head had been a second prior.

He sucked in a deep, irritated breath and glanced down at the branch grasped painfully tight in his fist. But this was not a branch. No, it couldn't be….but there was no denying what his eyes were seeing. It was his walking stick, the one he had sported before becoming the Dark One.

No…

It trembled in his hand—he dropped it as urgently as he would were it on fire.

"Rumpelstiltskin," the silky hiss of his name guided his attention.

She was back, lingering a few paces away. Why could she not leave him be? Did she mean to mock him with everything he could not change? Assist him with Bae? She was never that helpful alive, so he refused to put stock in that possibility for long.

"I found my son. You remember him, the one you predicted would be left fatherless. I require details this time, dearie. How do I go about waking him?"

The Seer shook her dark head pitifully and began to stalk in a circle around his body. It made him vastly uncomfortable. Inevitably, he copied her movements, the two of them performing a synchronized dance of distrust.

"You can't," she replied matter-of-factly.

A long-forgotten memory surfaced from the recesses of his mind. Stuck in a damp, dismal prison cell, the high and mighty Snow White and Prince Charming visiting him in desperate concern for the Queen's curse, the tricky wordplay he had exhibited.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

"Who can?" The Seer paused, the leaves rustling under her dirty, bare feet.

Her finger extended to the open air and her neck craned back. The palms of her hands unfurled, those gruesome eyes blinking simultaneously. He knew what she was doing—she was using her gift, calling upon the powers that may be in order to envision a piece of the future. All he needed was a name, a single label of the person that would grant him his son…

"That which is born of true love shall be your salvation. That which holds your son's heart, but may not harbor requited affections," she proposed. Why did she feel the need to speak in riddles? Why could she not say 'find so-and-so and bask in eternal happiness'?

That which is born of true love…she must be referring to Emma Swan. No other powerful being fit that description. The product of true love was a valuable asset, indeed. A spark of jealousy flitted through his veins. Bae's ex-girlfriend was capable of waking him, but not his papa?

"Pleasure doing business with you, dearie," he lilted dryly. Now to stir himself from this dream.

"Caution, Rumpelstiltskin. Gaining your son's forgiveness will not be an easy task. Darkness lay ahead, but do not cower. In that darkness shall be a flicker of light. Guard your heart and it shall be extinguished."

He waved his hand impatiently. He had heard enough of her nonsense for one lifetime. The forest surrounding him darkened, the skies swirling violet in hue.

The last thing he saw was the Seer, spreading her arms fully, her body crumbling into dozens of leaves that were carried away with the wind.

…..

"Rumpel, wake up," the normally sweet voice sounded oddly frantic. Milky-white hands jostled him from sleep, hanging on to the crook of his elbow.

He jolted up in his seat, his eyelids bursting open wide. His heart thudded against the cage of his chest and it took him a full minute of whipping his head around to realize that he was not surrounded by a chilly gust of wind or towering trees, but by white tiles and beeping machines. Belle was still leaning on the arm of his chair, book propped open in her lap with her finger marking the line she was reading to Bae. _Red Riding Hood, _by the looks of it.

Bae….

"You were talking in your sleep. You kept reciting our names over and over, shouting for us. Belle, Bae," she explained, her voice ingrained with obvious concern. His tongue lapped against the roof of his mouth—it was dry as those autumn leaves. His head sank back onto the chair, his lungs expanding with a relieved breath.

He was awake. Not alone. No forest, no Seer.

"I know how to wake Bae," he whispered softly, the Seer's haunting message still crawling like spiders over his mind.

He glanced at Bae's sleeping form and experienced another dull throb in his heart as he accepted the terms that it would not be by his doing. If it restored Bae to his lively self, if it brought him back, then he would gladly take it. He latched onto Belle's gentle wrist, channeling his desperation into her, brown eyes pleading.

"I need Emma."

…

_**Of course, I must thank my reviewers for their support. I appreciate every word, guys! Here's to Huntress4455, Opera123, Romance and Musicals, Paola1967, Jennifer, discotimelord, Arekanderu, Rumbelle fan, Belle86, PanicAtTheExpress, SwanQueen4055, Grace5231973, megumisakura, SkyBlueSw, cheesyteal'c, and The Auburn Girl. **_

_**Praise for the Miller's Daughter? Yay? Nay? **_


	46. Chapter 46

_**A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out, but I think this chapter came out good. At least, I hope it did. Here's to hoping everyone enjoys it. **_

"No," Emma outright refused, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

The raw pain in that one syllable was evident enough to make Belle wonder if Emma was as platonic toward Henry's father as she seemed to want them to believe. She bit tentatively on her lip as she sensed Rumpel's outrage bubbling under the surface, dangerously close to creating a monsoon. Their hopes were dashed with that negative reply.

Henry's precocious eyes flickered between Emma and Rumpel in the way he would observe a violent boxing match gone wrong. Belle instinctively clasped the boy by the shoulders and guided him into a secure embrace. His fingers gripped her arm; she could tell he was tense and worried for his mother.

"We had a deal," Rumpel thundered with all the venom he could muster. He seemed to rise on the arch of his feet, looming over Emma with the ferocity of a cobra about to strike lethally. His finger nearly prodded her chest in accusation, pointing toward the spot over her heart. "You are the only one who can do this. I suggest you get to it."

Emma bristled, the curls of her blonde hair standing on end in her rush of anger. She glared spitefully at Rumpel's extended digit, making no move to obey. Belle deemed herself a good judge of character and Emma definitely seemed like the type that did not lie down and take orders freely from anyone, including someone like Rumpelstiltskin.

"I suggest you direct that finger away from my chest or you'll have something worse than stitches to worry about. Like trusting these doctors to sew your whole finger back on."

Rumpel flinched from the suggestion of the gruesome threat. He bared his teeth and exchanged his finger for intensely close proximity as he cornered Emma. With every step he took, he forced her to retreat backwards until her hip bumped the wall. Henry struggled in Belle's arms, but she held him tight.

Emma didn't even blink against the approach. Belle admired her courage—most people would hunch in fear or be put on their guard before the Dark One, even if he was the Dark One no longer. Despite that, she could sense the danger in the air and knew what Rumpel was like if someone turned back on a deal with him.

"Rumpel—" It was the only word she could manage to form.

"We had a deal! No one breaks deals with me!" Rumpel's voice steadily climbed to a dull roar, rough with frustration. Belle glanced at Bae and felt an inescapable pang in her heart as she realized he may very well be listening to this. What if it made him retreat further into unconsciousness?

"Rumpel, I don't think this is the proper place to discuss this," she warned, purposely centering her gaze on his son. He barely shifted his head in response, all too consumed at the moment with Emma's lack of cooperation. Henry glanced up at her pleadingly. "Maybe if we gave her some time—"

"We don't have time, Belle! Time has never been any mistress of mine. I need my son back and you _will _accomplish that for me."

This last order was bitterly directed back to Emma, whose aura foretold that she would not willingly comply with that demand. Henry clutched at Belle's arm and it felt like it would be torn from its socket in the boy's concern for his mother. He was murmuring 'please, please, stop' over and over, but Rumpel ignored him as effectively as he did Belle.

"Yeah, we had a deal," Emma confirmed flatly. "I owed you a favor. In Storybrooke, you cashed in on that favor by taking me with you to New York in search of your son. Well, we found your son—he's right behind you in case you'd forgotten. So, as far as I'm concerned, my job is done. Your favor can make me fly to New York, but it cannot make me feel love for the man who broke my heart."

With that declaration, Emma whirled and aimed for the doorway. Rumpel's head reeled back sharply in astonishment. No one, except perhaps Belle, had ever turned their back on him or put him in his place so abruptly. He narrowed his eyes and limped after her.

"Where do you think you're going?" He called out, hands curled into fists by his side. Emma stumbled on the threshold, her knuckles turning bone white from the pressure in gripping the doorframe. She sniffed once and gave him a cold sideways glance over her shoulder.

"I'm going to Tallahassee."

….

Tallahassee turned out to be translation for a run-down apartment building on the lower end of Manhattan. The streets were crowded with tourists, vendors, and the homeless alike. The stench of thick pollution and greasy hamburgers clogged Emma's nostrils as she tugged open one of the double doors and entered the lobby.

It wasn't all too appealing compared to the outside, what with the worn cracked floor and rusty iron gate separating the lobby from the rest of the apartment building. It made her feel like she'd accidentally wandered into the third class quarters aboard the _Titanic. _Only New York buildings would contain formidable black iron gates instead of a simple buzzer on the door outside.

So this was Neal's Tallahassee.

This was the place he had chosen to settle down longer than anywhere else and build a life around something that did not involve picking a man's wallet while in line for chili dogs. Storybrooke had become her Tallahassee, the place she could safely call home. The place that made her happy.

There had to be at least fifty buttons on the panel next to the gate. Fifty buttons that would connect her to the residents of the apartment building. That is, if the panel stopped crackling with electricity every few seconds. She was almost hesitant to push one of the buttons, unless she jolted back in a shock of blue-white lightning.

First, she needed the number of Neal's apartment. She scoured the poorly typed names, which were posted on yellowing scraps of paper caught behind weathered plastic. Her finger tapped each one as she searched for Neal's name or any indication of his apartment. _I know you're here somewhere…come on, give me something…'Not Baelfire'…'Neal Incognito'…Hell, I'll take 'No Name'. Where are you? _

"Somehow, I doubt you'll find Baelfire listed beside any of those obnoxiously noisy buttons," a voice announced from the entrance.

She hadn't even noticed the door had opened, though a gust of wind now tickled the nape of her neck. Her muscles tensed around her shoulders, her finger poised over the name _Henry Gale_ when she craned her head to see Rumpelstiltskin.

"I wasn't looking for Baelfire. I was looking for Neal Cassidy," she retorted testily and continued perusing. The barb hit its intended mark, making Rumpel grit his teeth. Emma finished with one portion of the list and sighed impatiently. "Why did you follow me here?"

"I wanted to see what was so fascinating about Tallahassee. Not as impressive as I imagined it would be," he countered in his own sarcastic manner. She narrowed her eyes in warning over her shoulder, but he remained on the threshold, looking as suave and in control as ever before. He took a step further inside and the door slammed behind him, effectively shutting out the chill of the wintry air.

They engaged in a staring contest, each one waiting for the other to make a move. If he was expecting her to apologize for hurting his feelings back at the hospital, he was going to have to wait a long time. She finally broke eye contact to scan the rest of the names, her cheeks flushing as she felt his gaze burning into her back. _Neal…where are you? A-ha! Got you! _

Her finger hovered over one of the last buttons in the column. It did not have a name, but it wasn't listed as Unoccupied like the other vacant apartments were. It meant someone was living there and chose not to divulge their name. It meant the apartment belonged to a person who didn't want to be found—exactly like Neal.

"Found his apartment," she informed her unwanted audience. Then she immediately regretted doing so. By offering him this knowledge, she was inviting him along.

Rumpel's cane hollowly echoed against the ground as he joined her side and peered over her shoulder at the name. She caught a huge whiff of his cologne and scrunched her nose unpleasantly. Did the guy bathe in it? Did Belle like that sort of thing? She supposed Rumpelstiltskin dousing himself in too much cologne smelled far better than the musty, damp basement she'd known for three centuries.

"You deem this significant? There's no name. For all you know, that apartment is empty save for those who are desperate enough to crawl in through the window and curl up in a ball on the bare floor. I'm sure I don't have to remind you….I don't appreciate my time wasted."

Emma ignored his dubious attitude. _No one asked you to tag along, _she snapped inside her mind.

She was confident this was the place she was looking for. All she wanted was to see this place for herself, to understand the nature of the man Neal was in comparison to the man he used to be ten years ago. Moreover, she wanted to know if there was even the slightest chance he had changed.

Now to annoyingly buzz one of the other residents in hopes of being allowed inside. She wiggled her fingers in front of the buttons, debating which one to choose.

Without warning, Rumpel's shoulder collided with her body, nudging her out of the way. She fumbled against the black iron gate, which rattled from the impact with a careening metallic noise. Rumpel busied himself with repeatedly punching every button his fingers could rapidly attack.

"That's your solution? Punch every button?" Emma gawked as he began strumming his palms down the length of the panel, sometimes hitting two or three buttons at once.

"Feel free to criticize my methods _after_ I succeed in gaining us entrance," he shot back. After five minutes of incessant buzzing, someone must have gotten fed up since the gate unlocked for them. He smirked brilliantly in her direction, _I-told-you-so_ slathered all over his smug face.

"I take it you're the jerk who hits every button on the elevator, too," she remarked to Rumpel's suited back as he voluntarily led the way into the heart of Neal's apartment building. The way he strode with intense purpose, a raging bull would not dare block his path.

"Rumor has it the buttons in the elevators in this city resemble Christmas trees." Emma rolled her eyes to the water-stained ceiling. _Note to self: never accompany Gold onto an elevator. _

…

Rumpel wasted most of his irritation brutally picking the lock to Bae's apartment door despite Emma's protests. High and mighty, virtuous just like her dear mother. And yet she could not find it in her heart to wake his son from that dreadful slumber. It dug under his skin like an intrusive sliver that no tweezers in this world could ever reach.

Why the hell was she being so stubborn? All because of the pain of a broken heart? Granted, broken hearts were never to be taken lightly in any realm, but maybe this little escapade of hers would do the trick.

Slipping inside the confines of his son's apartment, he took a good look around. Nothing in that entire space reminded him of his brave fourteen year old boy. It might as well have belonged to a complete stranger, which he supposed his son fit that description now.

It punched a vast hole through his gut, knowing that there would never be a place Bae called home in this world. This place did not hold any essence of him at all, not even by smell.

And it smelled like someone indulged in one too many nights of cheap Chinese food.

There was a small sharp intake of air behind him. Emma moved past his shoulder with the speed of a snail, green eyes glistening and moist as she drank in every detail.

The _Hatters and Cleaners_ sign on the wall, no doubt reminding her of the hatter back home. The rumpled sheets winding across the bed, a hot pink hue coloring her cheeks as she silently hoped that it only appeared that way from Bae having restless nights and reluctance to make his bed. He certainly didn't want to imagine his boy taking a lover into his bed—it contradicted his ingrained image of the boy he'd loved. Talk about children growing up too fast.

Then she spotted the odd dreamcatcher hanging in the window. Her knees threatened to buckle, her body inches from crumpling to the ground. It transfixed her in place, seized the breath from her lungs.

Under his scrutiny, Emma wandered to the window and lifted the delicate dreamcatcher into her hands. Its decorative golden beads swayed, shining marvelously in the sun as Emma stroked the tawny woven thread. Rumpel's brows knitted as her face softened only to become eclipsed with longing and anguish.

Why was she being so emotional all of a sudden? It was just a dreamcatcher.

_It's just a cup, _the memory shattered his train of thought, crystal clear as the day the words left his dark lips. And then he understood. Emma's walls had temporarily fallen, allowing him a glimpse of the portion of her soul she always shielded from the world. A broken heart may hurt, but it did not diminish love entirely.

The dreamcatcher trembled in Emma's grip. He took careful steps toward her, so as not to spook her back into the fortress she built around her heart.

"Did you find something, dearie?"

He stretched a hand in the direction of the dreamcatcher. Emma's head shot up, her arms tucking the dreamcatcher to her chest, as though a single touch would taint its significance. Oh, yes, that dreamcatcher meant more to her than she was letting on.

"It's…it's just a dreamcatcher," she said, trying to keep her voice unaffected. Or was she working to convince herself of that notion? Oh, he severely doubted there was any truth to that statement. The eyes were the windows to the soul and Emma's emeralds begged to differ.

"If it means nothing to you…why are you still holding it?"

She pulled the dreamcatcher away from her body and stared down at it forlornly. Her mouth worked like a fish's, opening and closing, but she could not answer that question. Not without allowing him to see the parts she preferred to keep hidden.

"Why are you still here?" She barked back angrily. She turned away toward the window, obviously dismissing him from her presence.

He was more than a little miffed by her rash behavior. Well, if Emma Swan did not wish to heed his words, there was no reason to offer them in the first place. What should she care about the experience he'd garnered from tragedy and heartache? Why should he bother trying—

_Guard your heart and it shall be extinguished, _ the Seer's mystical voice slithered in his ear once more. It was so sudden a flashback and so clear that Rumpel had the urge to bat it away with his hand, as he would a pesky fly. It made him stop and consider.

He had been on the verge of constructing his own walls to keep Emma out, guarding his heart. Was this what the Seer meant? The puzzle pieces were always scattered and so difficult to link together. Would opening his heart convince Emma to help Bae? Or would it be an effort wasted?

There was only one way to find out.

It would not be easy. Not to mention old habits died hard—even though his curse was broken, he still found himself behaving in the way he did for more than three centuries. A little flourish of the arms here, a slight reliance on the armor over his mind there. Though his heart had swelled for Belle, it was still a challenge for him to be open to people like Emma.

He tuned out the sound of his rough breathing and wiped the cold sweat from his brow, dreading what was to come next. His fingers twitched with uneasiness and he considered obeying Emma's demand in walking out that door.

No, this had to be done. This was for Bae.

"Emma," he hesitantly requested her immediate attention. She reluctantly replaced the dreamcatcher on the rubber hook suctioned to the pane of the window. Her eyes swung warily in his direction, two frozen green orbs that held no sign of patience or fondness. "Perhaps you and I need to have a little talk."

He tried to employ a soft, cautious tone, kind of like that annoyingly humble one Archie always used on his patients. It reminded him of the way a parent spoke to a child when informing them that something serious had occurred. The cricket was certainly a good example of the type of man he wanted to be, if only he could reach that level of honor.

Come to think of it, Emma could one day be his daughter-in-law—if she ever patched this sore spot with Bae, that is. He did not know whether to embrace the idea or gape in disbelief.

Emma's eyelids lowered doubtfully at his overly soothing tone and she folded her arms around her waist, a fleeting form of protection.

"Talk about what, exactly?"

There she was hiding behind her thick steel walls, hopelessly impenetrable by any kind words or manners. Squared shoulders, emotionless gaze, the mastered attitude of pretending everything was alright when there was a torrent of hurt rising beneath the surface. Emma's walls were so impervious to reassurance and comfort; it made his walls look like they were made out of tissue paper.

Rumpel decidedly settled on the edge of Bae's rickety thin mattress. He squirmed a couple of times, the lumps disagreeing with the curve of his thighs. His body was far too used to the heavenly comfort of his bed back home. Ooh, someone was overdue for a trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

He patted the spot beside him, asking Emma to join him on the bed, but she remained standing. Stubborn swan.

He commanded the nerves in his body to stop jumping. He inhaled deeply and slowly released it through his lips. Here goes nothing.

"I know you're having difficulties accepting the fact that you still have attachment to Bae," he started briskly, leaping straight into the heart of the matter. Emma stiffened until she resembled one of the London guards, never breathing or giving any sign of life to distinguish their frame from that of a pillar of stone.

"I do not have feelings for Neal," she protested hotly. He held up a calm hand to signal her to relax. That wasn't quite the start he hoped for. At this rate, he should be relieved that she wasn't currently carrying a gun on her hip.

"So you say. And his name is Bae, for future reference. Best learn it," he corrected impulsively.

For a moment, his voice nearly resembled the impish one he had acquired in the Enchanted Forest. He coughed and massaged his throat to remove all traces of it. The side effects of that curse were slow in wearing off. When you spoke and giggled that shrilly for three centuries, it tended to leave its mark.

Now, where was he? Ah, yes.

"The fact remains that you have a nasty habit of shielding your heart with impenetrable walls. Walls so formidable that not even a dwarf's pickaxe would hope to chip them. Maybe there was a time that you were different, specifically with my son. You've exchanged vulnerability and affections for security."

Emma half-turned her body toward the door, as though the beginnings of an escape plan were taking root in her mind. He could only wish that he had the swiftness to detach his body from this board of a bed and block her path should she attempt to flee. She was trying hard not to look directly at him.

"What would someone like you know about vulnerability?" He grimaced under the whiplash of the cynicism lacing her words.

"More than you might believe," he replied softly, leaving just enough of an ambiguous note to peak her curiosity. He fought back the smile that teased his lips as her eyebrows rose in question. Once more, he patted his palm on the mattress.

This time, Emma seemed to think twice about whatever escape plan she was hatching. She approached one step at a time and cautiously lowered her body onto the spot next to him. Their hips brushed and she leaped away by an inch. She acted like he had a contagious disease. Golditis, perhaps.

Her case was much more severe: degenerative cardiac disintegration. It was his obnoxious way of declaring that their savior was suffering from a broken heart.

"For many years, I had succumbed to the darkness of magic. Believe it or not, Miss Swan, I was a coward who hid behind the power I had obtained. That essence of magic….that was my wall," he explained tiredly. He glanced over at her to see if she understood. Her already hard-edged features were pinched with a frown. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed, grasping fistfuls of the rumpled bedspread.

"So, you're calling me a coward?"

His brow furrowed in alarm. This was harder than he assumed it would be. Her gaze was unforgiving, warning him to watch his step. He averted his eyes to the scuffed floor, trying to summon up enough concentration to wade through these murky waters.

"No, that was not what I meant. That came out wrong," he murmured, struggling for some redeeming string of logic that would get through to her. "You are one of the bravest people I ever had the fortune of knowing, Emma. As for me, I was quite lonely during my time in the Enchanted Forest, always allowing power to dominate over happiness. It was nothing but an ocean of darkness. Belle was a rare flicker of light, but even she could not break through my walls. Alone and miserable, I punished myself for having lost my son. I fear the same for you."

Silence fell among them, heavy and tense. He clasped his hands in his lap and waited for her reaction. Emma seemed to absorb his words with deep thought. Then she blinked a few times and tilted her head inquiringly.

"So, you were a friendless magician with emotional issues? What's your point?" He sighed.

"My point, _dearie, _is that hiding behind these walls will do you no good. You can be angry at Bae all you want. Perhaps he deserves your anger in the end. But there comes a time where you must put aside your anger and move on. Otherwise, it will dominate your life and every decision you make. Stop running; don't harden your heart due to a single tragedy. It might protect you, but it will just as easily leave you loveless, Emma," he insisted.

He didn't know whether she was listening or taking his lecture with a grain of salt. Her face had turned downwards, her blonde hair creating a curtain that framed her jaw. He cupped her chin and urged her to meet his eyes. The breath left her lungs from the invasive touch, but she made no move to resist.

"You deserve so much better than this burden you bear on your shoulders. Isn't it about time you deserved your happy ending?"

It was then, with the weight of her head in his palm, that Emma's tough façade started to crumble. His words began to plant themselves deep in her mind, blossoming and sprouting into something more.

She shifted her head from his hand, but it didn't stop her from reaching for the silver swan necklace she always wore around her neck. She spun the thin black rope around so he could aptly see the charm. His fingers claimed the cool metal circle and traced the delicately embossed swan in the center.

"Your son gave this to me when he and I were still together. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever given me…even if he stole it from a convenience store."

His head shot up in surprise. His son was a thief? Of course, the boy had to make his way in this world somehow after abruptly dropping into it without anyone to care for him, but stealing like a common beggar?

Another negative drawback of releasing him into that vortex.

"You kept this simple pendant all these years because it served as a reminder of the love you nurtured for him. It was one time in your life where you might have been happy," he assumed, releasing the charm. It bobbed against Emma's neck, but she didn't seem to notice. She was too caught up in her surge of emotions.

Her walls were like a dam—once it broke, it was impossible to staunch the flood. Anguish, heartache, nostalgia…the tears welled up in her emerald eyes from the overwhelming sensations firing through her veins.

"That was my first reason. It's a reminder…that I never wanted to trust someone so completely ever again. It's been ten years, but I can't forget it. I know I never want to be hurt that way," she moaned through the onslaught of sobs. His composure softened as he extended a hand to brush the loose strands of hair from her face.

"I know, sweetheart. Trust me; I am the grand expert at harboring guilt and hatred. You need to let it go, Emma, or it will fester and eat you whole from the inside out. Love is too precious to pass by," he advised.

Emma nodded once, shortly. He still sensed anger simmering under the surface, but he sincerely hoped that it was the end of the storm. He meant every word he spoke—if anyone deserved a shred of happiness, it was Emma.

Gently, he covered her clenched hand with his own, giving it a comforting pat. Her muscles relaxed, uncoiling, easing up on the sheets as a result of his tender touch.

"Will you help Bae?" He peered under that tangled curtain of gold, pleading silently. She should know more than anyone how it felt to be separated from your child.

She abruptly swept her hair away from her exasperated forehead, rubbing her exhausted eyes. Perhaps it was the projection of his desire, but she looked to be considering it deeply.

"I'll try," she relented, to which his heart soared. While he smiled with relief, she snorted decisively, mocking his uplifted mood. "But I'm not making any promises, Gold. I said I would try, not that it would work. There's too much hurt between Neal and I for it to matter. There's another thing you and I have in common: I hate breaking my word."

For that, Emma earned a little more respect in his book, even if their interpretations of her favor varied significantly. Sensing that this was the end of their heart-to-heart moment, he groaned and dragged himself to his feet.

Oh, his back would be in a sorry state later on. Belle would have to rub it again. That woman certainly had the magic touch. Lately, she was trying to convince him to let her practice something she had read in one of her books, a massaging technique that involved walking barefoot across his back. What kind of technique was that?

Emma copied his movements and swayed clumsily onto her feet, stretching her muscles out. Even she was rubbing her backside uncomfortably. How did Bae sleep on that slab he called a bed? A bed of thorns would be more welcome than that wretched thing.

"Would you care to explore a bit more among the alias of Neal Cassidy?"

Rumpel gestured openly to the confines of the apartment, inviting her to do as she pleased. Emma glanced around, memorizing every crack in the doorframe and every particle of dust floating in the air. That dreamcatcher was the only item that earned her focus the longest.

"I've seen enough. You?" He shook his head demurely. There was nothing for him here. His foot kicked aside a shaggy rug as he made a beeline for the apartment's door. His cane tapped the newly exposed floorboard as he passed. _Thump. _

He paused. That floorboard sounded much too hollow. He glanced back and realized that Emma heard it, too. Her head tilted to the side questioningly, the way it did whenever she was working out a suspicion in her head. Her eyes glued to the floorboard that Gold had just casually stepped over.

Deliberately, Rumpel retraced his steps until he was an inch shy of the previously hidden floorboard. He allowed his cane to hover above it and then he purposely brought it down. _Thump. Thump. _

Odd. He tested his theory on the other floorboards surrounding that one, but each floorboard made a different sound than the one that had caught his attention. Back and forth, he tested it, prodding the floorboards with his cane. _Thump. Tap. Thump. Tap. _

There was something different about this floorboard entirely. There was something there.

Tossing his cane on the bed, Rumpel gradually knelt beside the floorboard. Emma rested on her haunches, in case he needed any help. Either that, or her ravenous curiosity was more fascinating than he gave her credit for. Rubbing his palms together, his mind feasted on various possibilities of Bae's use of a hollow space beneath the floorboards. Hidden money? Perhaps. Whatever it was, it was valuable enough to warrant protection.

"Here—I'll pry it loose with my nails," Emma offered while his fingers scrabbled over the length of the floorboard, hopelessly searching for a crease or indent that would allow him leverage.

Emma traced the edge of the slat, catching it with a nail. Her cheeks puffed like a blowfish as she forced it up from the floor. With a resolute crack, the board disengaged and bolted upwards. Emma toppled backwards in a heap. She feverishly sucked on a nail that might be broken.

Rumpel eyed the gaping hole in the floor with uncertainty. It enticed him, his knees sliding on the floor as he crawled closer to it. At the same time, a stomach-knotting bout of nervousness made him stall. What if Bae was hiding something atrocious down there, like a secret stash of addictive drugs? What if it was something Bae preferred to keep private, something he wouldn't want his papa to see?

"Well, are you going to check it out or not?" Emma watched him expectantly, still sprawled over the discarded rug. Rumpel swallowed away the anxiety. This was the moment of truth. Before he could change his mind, he stuck a hand into the hole.

What if there were mice crawling under the floorboards? Or termites? They'd ruin his suit for sure. What if it was a list of all the ways Bae could exact revenge on his father for being dropped into that vortex? _Get ahold of yourself, man. Face up to it, whatever it is, _he berated himself.

His fingers brushed across something rough and he jerked his arm back. The item felt terribly dry and coarse, like snakeskin. Emma rolled her eyes and stuffed her hand into the hole. Out came…a piece of paper. Oh. _See where fear gets you? Silly man. _

For a long time, Emma studied the paper. Her lips parted soundlessly, her fingers wrinkling the edges. The silence irritated him. Part of him wanted to rip the paper out of her hands, but his brain seemed to have no control over the rest of his body. He was frozen from the neck down.

"What has you so mesmerized? What is it?" Emma tore her eyes from the page to scrutinize him. Then she lowered them again. Up, down, up, down…She was comparing something. His heart started to pound in his chest.

"You're not going to believe this," she breathed in awe.

Before he could register whether that warning was grave or not, Emma flicked the paper right around. A full 180 degrees, allowing him to rest his eyes upon its contents. He expected an anguished letter, a vow to cause him as much misery as he had his son, but this…this he was absolutely unprepared for.

Emma was right. He could not believe it. It was a drawing of him.

He accepted the paper into his shaking hands, blinking rapidly in case it was an illusion. It was a rough sketch, not unlike the one he drew of Bae. His son must have inherited his artistic ability. It had no distinguishable details about the time in Bae's memory other than the fact that it was obviously centuries old—it only featured him among an otherwise blank background.

But, oh, how it made his throat squeeze shut with angst and his heart swell. Warm wetness rose under his eyelids as he absorbed every stroke of charcoal.

There he was, perched on a worn wooden stool and spinning as was his hobby in that other realm. Of course it was a memory from their homeland—even his hair contained its natural waviness. His attention was focused on the wheel, one hand seamlessly guiding the top of it. A soft smile conquered his lips—it had been a while since he'd done that while spinning.

The most fascinating detail was how his face was shaded to look golden with a healthy glow; it did not contain any trace of the dark presence that had inhabited his body in the late days of his time with Bae. There was no gruesome curl to his lips, no sinister malice haunting his irises.

He looked human. He looked happy.

Emma smiled.

"Guess your boy doesn't hate you as much as you thought."

…..

"For now, the hundred years were at an end, and the day had come when the sleeping beauty should be awakened. When the Prince drew near the hedge of thorns, it was changed into a hedge of beautiful large flowers, which parted and bent aside to let him pass…."

Belle paused, even though she had nearly reached the ending of the tale. It occurred to her how appropriately the tale of Sleeping Beauty resonated with the misfortune that had plagued Bae recently.

Using her finger as a bookmark, she slipped into thoughtful silence as she observed the man lying unconscious in that hospital bed. The bruises marking his cheeks and neck made her wince and recall the crude scars on her arms and back. Wounds they had suffered as a result of loving the same man; indirectly, at least. But Belle would wear those scars as a soldier would wear his armor and proud title—it was a mark of just how greatly she had loved in the first place.

How much loneliness and suffering had Bae endured from the time he dropped into that swirling vortex, sucked into a land without magic or any sort of familiarity? Consequently, the damage was enough to make him resent his father. No matter how Rumpel tried to hide it, she knew the realization of Bae's supposed hate would be impossible for him to forget or heal.

How broken could one man be before the pieces were lost forever?

"Bae, I know you and I have never met. My name is Belle…in case you're wondering in there." Her words trailed off, as though expecting Bae to sit upright in bed and introduce himself. She folded her hands courteously atop her lap and did not waver. "I know that you and your father are not on very good terms. He tried waking you, but his kiss failed. It's because you resent him, am I right?"

There was no answer to her question, but of course there would not be. She searched for any sign that Bae had heard, any small tightening of muscles or shift in his blank exterior, but he was still as ever.

Belle supposed she would have to do most of the talking, clear her mind of everything she had pondered over since Rumpel left and Henry had taken it upon himself to visit the gift shop.

"I understand how you might feel that way, being resentful. Being alone in such a miserable, unfamiliar place. Having lost everything you loved, nurturing a broken heart…It's not an easy burden to bear. I felt the same way in our land, when I was harshly imprisoned by a terrible queen. I was imprisoned for so many years."

Belle debated whether to delve into full detail about her experience in that dank, dark cell. She shoved the memory away. The urge to help Bae was too great and comfort could not possibly come from such a deadly tale. She skirted around it, her mind moving to a more secure place.

"Bae, if there is one thing I learned throughout my journey, it is that you should never abandon love even in the most desolate of places. You have every right to be angry with your father for losing you, but he has been trying to correct that mistake for three hundred years. When I first met him, I assumed he was cruel and cold, but those were claims spurred on by the rumors in town. That was because I did not know him. When he began opening up to me, I did not see a monster. I saw a broken, lonely shell of a man whose only purpose in life was to be reunited with his long-lost son. There is good in him—he even chose true love over his power this time. It's okay to be angry sometimes, but don't let your hatred darken your heart. You are his remaining source of light. He needs you."

_Beep…beep…beep…_

The dull droning rhythm of the machines was the only response she received.

"Emma might be the one to wake you. Though, her walls are quite resilient to affection, it seems. All she wants is to protect herself and her son. Maybe there's a part of her that still cares enough to help you, but it's buried deep. It will take great strength to uncover it, I think. But I have a feeling there's more to waking you than a simple kiss. You're holding back, Bae. You're scared about what you might find waiting out here. Don't be afraid. Emma has the will to wake you, but only if you're willing to be awakened. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow."

There were no other words peppering her tongue—that was all she could hope to offer him. She closed her eyes in silent prayer and wished with all her heart that Bae could hear every word that fell from her lips. _Please…please…whoever is listening…whether it be Bae, fate, or a higher power above us….please, bring him home. _

A knock at the door jarred her from her prayer, causing her to leap out of her chair in a startled reaction. The book of fairy tales hit the tiled floor hard, the abrupt impact echoing against the four walls as well as in her ears. She spun to find Emma and Rumpel standing in the doorway.

It was then that she noticed how the rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds had considerably dimmed, the shadows of the evening slithering vastly across the floor. How long had she been here, waiting by Bae's bedside? Time seemed to slip by without notice.

"Mind if I have a minute alone with him?" Emma asked gruffly, gesturing to Bae's slack form. Lines of exhaustion creased her eyes, clashing with the tight, stressed frown hanging on her lips.

Rumpel swooped forward and retrieved the fallen book. He dusted it off with a silk handkerchief he whipped out of his suit before handing it back to her. Their fingertips brushed ever so lightly, sending a teasing thrill spiraling down her spine. The exchange gave her the opportunity to scrutinize him closely.

It seemed that trip to Bae's living quarters did little to offer him solace.

"Come, Belle. You and I can debate whether the food in the hospital cafeteria is any more tolerable than Storybrooke's." He hooked his arm through hers, holding her firmly to his side as he led her to the doorway. As she passed Emma, she presented an encouraging look.

There was nothing more to do except wait.

Belle's stomach grumbled as Rumpel followed the signs on the wall in the direction of the cafeteria. She hoped the food was considered edible in this place. If she didn't have to taste another gloppy, oozing lump of Jell-O or choke down cardboard bread, it would be too soon.

…..

Emma waited to hear the pattern of their retreating footsteps in the hall, broken only by the continuous thud of Rumpel's cane. She didn't want any of them overhearing what she had to say to Neal. To Bae. She counted to fifty in her head and then counted backwards just as much, making sure they were gone.

For a few moments, she stood still as a grim statue, observing Neal's limp body. Whenever she fantasized about crossing paths with him again, this was never how she pictured it. It was frightening, seeing those tubes spiraling in and out, helping him breathe.

Flashes of memory overwhelmed her with the impact of a tidal wave: making him grin lazily in the way that always made her knees weak; the promise of Tallahassee; making love to him in the backseat of her Bug; the day she had confessed that she loved him. Before she knew it, she as standing at his bedside with her hands curled around the bedrail, shaking so hard that the rail rattled in her iron grip.

"Neal," she murmured his name.

It had been ten years since it last fell from her lips. She couldn't remove her eyes from his battered face. As though acting with a mind of its own, her hand gently grazed his jaw. Only for a second before she regained her senses and drew it away.

"As far as appearance goes, you haven't changed. Unless you count the bruises and gashes. You probably haven't been able to consult a mirror since the accident."

She mentally kicked herself—this was a wonderful start. Phrases like 'get well soon' and 'I miss you' crossed her mind, but that wasn't quite the angle she was going for. She had to tell him the truth, every bit of it. No more hiding.

"I got eleven months…when you set me up to take the fall for you. Eleven months in jail. I spent two years after that in Tallahassee. What hurt the most was that you weren't there to share it with me. I hated you for ten years. You were the first person I lowered my walls for, the first person I actually trusted. You broke my heart."

She sucked in a deep breath, only to realize how distraught she had let herself become. Her nerves were shot to hell, her vision was blurring up, and her throat was raspy in her grief. Raking her fingers frustratingly through her blonde hair, she forced herself to calm down and get a grip.

The important thing was that she needed to finish this.

"A year ago, I would have said that nothing good ever came out of the time I spent with you. I never trusted anyone because I was afraid I would only get hurt again. I even spent my birthdays alone, blowing out flimsy candles on cheap store-bought cupcakes, hoping something would change. One day, it did. My son…_our _son found me again. I gave him up for adoption when he was born because I didn't think I was his best chance, but I know now that I was wrong. Henry is my world now; the old me is completely gone. He reminds me so much of you: same laugh, same eyes, same mischievous ways. That boy is the best thing you've ever given me, Neal."

Emma lightly touched his hand, expecting a sense of a twitch or some telltale pressure. There was nothing but cold skin, his fingers splayed across the sterile, white sheet. _I hope you're listening, _she thought with all her heart. _I hope you caught every word. _

Bending over his hospital bed, she scrutinized his softly closed eyelids, willing them to open. His lips were slightly parted, as though awaiting her kiss.

"I've been running for so long, Neal. It's time I stopped running. It's time I moved on," she said determinedly, her head descending with every syllable. Now she was only a breath away. She closed her eyes tightly, picturing his grin once more. _Please let this work, _she prayed. "I forgive you."

With those three words, Emma closed the distance between them and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. It only lasted three seconds, but she swore there was an electrical current passing between their bodies, as if she were breathing life into Neal. The kiss broke, but she didn't dare open her eyes to check the result. All she could do was hope and wait.

_Please…please…please…_

"E…Emma?"

It was barely a croak, but it might as well have been ear-shattering as a shotgun blast from the way her eyes flew open wide. The darkness behind her eyelids vanished and she immediately drowned headfirst in a pair of lively brown eyes.

Brown, just like his father's.

…

_***The excerpt of the story included in this chapter is taken from the Grimm version of Sleeping Beauty.* **_

_**Time for shout-outs! I must thank all those that have recently reviewed—those kind words in my inbox certainly inspire me to write ten times faster. Here's to Huntress4455, LionshadeSC, Grace5231973, Jennifer, discotimelord, Hyourinmarulce, megumisakura, Dakota Kent, cheesyteal'c, SwanQueen4055, The Auburn Girl, and Opera123. **_

_**Until next time, dearies! **_


	47. Chapter 47

_**A/N: This may have taken a little longer than I expected, but I kind of like the way it turned out. I hope everyone else does, too. I also want to thank all my readers for propelling this story up to 550 reviews. Nothing makes me smile more than to hear those wonderful comments and to see how much the readers enjoy this story. **_

Bae was awake. Blinking. Breathing without the use of the machines.

Emma could hardly believe it. For a whole minute, she was as incapable of forming audible words as Bae. His lips moved, mouthing her name, but no sound joined it. Her hands gripped the cold bedrail, trembling in her astonishment. _I did it, _she repeated in her head multiple times. _I woke him up. _

"E…Emma," he managed to croak again, faint though it was in volume. Quickly, she retrieved a Styrofoam cup of water from the bedside table and held it to his lips. With her hand supporting his head, he was able to swallow a few careful sips. He smacked his dry lips, running his tongue over the corners. "You look good…you know, since it's been a decade."

A decade…when spoken that way, it sounded longer than it truly felt. Those events from ten years ago sometimes felt like only yesterday, with Henry barely beginning to grow in her belly. Those memories were especially dominant in her mind today. Before her senses completely returned, she offered him a light squeeze of the hand.

"So…it's true? Rumpelstiltskin is your father," she centered on the heart of the matter. Bae's expression darkened significantly at the mention of his father. He shifted his head uncomfortably on the pillow.

"Yeah, it's true. Sorry I never told you about who I really was, Emma. I learned a while ago that it's not something I should broadcast to my girlfriends. They kind of find it….sketchy." Emma wondered how many times Bae's sanity had been questioned by a female. "And I'm sorry about landing you in jail. Honestly, this guy named August convinced me to do it."

Emma stiffened as she loomed over the bedrail. August had been in contact with Bae? August had been the perpetrator in setting her up? If she ever found that oversized Ken doll, he'd be guaranteed firewood.

"Pinocchio made you do it? Are you planning to embroider that on a T-shirt?" Bae opened his mouth to apologize again—probably plead his case—but Emma held up a hand. "As I said, I forgive you. What happened to you?"

She pointedly touched her cheeks, hinting at the yellowish bruises tainting Bae's olive skin. He swiped a weak hand over a particularly large bruise on his forehead and winced. Still sore. His eyes glazed over as though trying to call up the memory in question.

"I was driving…I had just received a postcard from a dove. Strange, right? The postcard was from a place called Storybrooke, with just the word _broken _written on the other side." Emma reached out toward the bedside table and showed him the postcard. He nodded. "It was from August….to tell me you had fulfilled your destiny. I was driving to Storybrooke, to find you and hopefully make things right with you. I only got down the street when a wolf jumped in front of my car."

Emma was suddenly plagued with a sense of déjà vu.

"A wolf?" Bae frowned in response to the obvious skepticism in her voice.

"Trust me; there have been stranger things in New York. It's an off day when something _doesn't_ happen on the streets. Anyway, this wolf had one red eye. Maybe it was bleeding or something, I don't know."

A thunderous roar started up in Emma's ears as she flashed back to the night she met Henry, when she sped for the town line with the intention of returning to her lonely flat in Boston only to see a wolf in the middle of the street. A wolf with a red eye. Surely, it couldn't….be the same wolf? She hadn't seen that wolf since the day Graham died. Was this fate working its wonders again?

If Bae noticed her recognition, he didn't comment on it.

"It ran off, but I still jerked the wheel around and tried to dodge it. My car swerved…it collided with a taxi….crashed into a fire hydrant…there was water everywhere…my head hit the steering wheel…and that's the last thing I remember," he finished, slowly painting a foggy picture in her mind. To think that Bae had been alone in a coma for a week or so.

Light footsteps shattered her somber reverie.

"Hey, Emma, did it work yet?" Henry. She turned to face her son, simultaneously stepping aside to allow Bae a direct line of view to the cheerful, precocious child in the doorway. Bae and Henry gazed at each other in wondrous silence. It seemed an eternity before Bae lifted his eyes to Emma questioningly. She already knew what question he was going to ask.

"Is this…my son?" Henry gradually approached his bedside, a welcoming smile in place. Emma wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her chin grazing his soft hair.

"Neal, this is Henry. Henry, this is your father," she made the polite introductions. The two of them wore matching expressions of awe, tilting their heads in unison, studying and categorizing every shared detail and similarity between them. Henry readjusted his smile, growing wider by the second. Water pooled in Bae's eyes, his lips mouthing the words _my son. _

"Maybe…you and I can explore New York sometime," Henry suggested.

It figured that the kid would treat this as an adventure. Bae grinned—it was the same lazy smile that used to make her knees weak. Now whenever she imagined a man smiling seductively in her direction, he always wore a dark cravat around his neck to hide a terrible scar.

"Sure, buddy. I know some great spots you'd love to see. The Statue of Liberty, FAO Schwarz….not to mention the best place to grab a slice of pizza, topped with anything your heart desires."

Emma had the feeling she'd have to call up Snow and warn her they would be staying a week in New York. The excitement transpiring over Henry's face was akin to Charming's puppy eyes: impossible to refuse.

"Will you be coming back with us to Storybrooke?" Bae's gaze switched to Emma, who was biting down on her bottom lip. They had not yet discussed where they stood in terms of any stable relationship. Of course, Bae would also have the option of salvaging his relationship with his father, too.

"Henry, why don't you run down to the cafeteria and tell Grandpastiltskin that Bae's awake?" Immediately, Henry accepted the mission and sprinted for the hall. "And don't beg him for dessert!"

That kid was going to be on the couch with a stomachache for a week.

When she turned back to Bae, his elation over meeting his biological son had noticeably dimmed. Grave seriousness created lines of anxiety and tire in his forehead and creased the skin around his eyes. There was little hope to be found, as if he already knew the answer but was inclined to ask the question, anyway.

"About us…" Emma closed her eyes, regretting the words she had to say next. She had made her decision; it was time to carry out the deed. She released a thin breath through her lips and hung her head miserably.

"Neal…Bae…whoever you are. I forgive you, but I'm not in love with you anymore. I'm not that girl you used to know. The only reason my kiss woke you is because I am the product of True Love—the most powerful magic in your world, remember? Whatever you and I had….it burned out ten years ago," she said softly.

Warm water pricked her eyelashes and she blinked it away. Bae's face crumbled as he struggled to grasp her meaning. It made her heart ache to watch him slip into such overwhelming sadness. Maybe she should have waited until he adjusted to being awake from the coma to start down this road.

"You've moved on. You're in love with someone else," he flatly surmised. Emma's shrug was enough to confirm it, even if it was a challenge for her to put the admission into words. He waved it aside. "I don't blame you, Emma. Not after everything you've been forced to endure. It's been ten years. I guess I was just hoping things hadn't changed so much. But I'm happy for you. Of all the people I know, you're the one who deserves a happy ending the most."

_Isn't it about time you deserved your happy ending? _Like father, like son.

Bae tenderly clasped her hand, a sign of support.

"Do you think he's the one?" Bae raised his eyebrows speculatively. That was a tricky assumption to make, considering she still had the mental image in her head of Jefferson flailing with fake seizures in a hospital bed surrounded by Jell-O and _Bewitched _re-runs.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Maybe."

She shrugged again, her thoughts running ragged with the memory of Jefferson's scent and the way he smiled and the purposeful taunts that always got her riled up simply because he loved to see her so passionate. The way he cared for her and treated her wound in the cabin, the way she saved his life. There would never be a dull moment with Jefferson in her world—it would always be something of an adventure.

"You could still come to Storybrooke for Henry, you know. He'd love to get to know his father. And who knows? Maybe you'll find someone special waiting for you," she tried to cheer him up, all the while forming a list of available women in Storybrooke. Granny? Too old in appearance…and dangerous. Miss Ginger? Not unless she wanted someone to be her knight in shining armor and protect her from Pongo.

Bae nodded vaguely at the idea.

"Fate works in mysterious ways," he remarked.

A group of doctors piled into the room, having just realized that their coma patient was one step away from tap-dancing. They claimed they needed to evaluate him now that he had emerged from the coma. Emma gave Bae one last nod and moved off to the hallway to stay out of their way.

"Emma," Bae called her back just as she raised her foot over the threshold. Her green eyes swiftly locked with his brown ones, which were filled with new urgency. "I want to talk to Belle first."

…..

"You're pacing again, sweetheart," Belle pointed out patiently as Rumpel's strides spanned the length of their table in the hospital's stuffy cafeteria. Every now and then, he would listen to reason and perch himself on the very edge of a chair. Unfortunately, it only lasted for a few seconds of uneasy fidgeting before he sprung up on his feet once more and resumed the tedious process of pacing.

"He's not going to wake up, Belle. I know it in my heart of hearts. Emma won't be able to wake him. This is my punishment for all those years ago," he nervously voiced aloud his fears as he had countless times before, his gait tremulous and strained.

He made a full revolution before collapsing into the seat opposite her. Even then, he was anything but relaxed. His hand ferociously gripped the rim of the off-white table, the pressure sapping the color from his knuckles. His muscles coiled under the immaculate fabric of his suit, his legs uncomfortably planted flat on the tiled floor as though any moment he was ready to bound out of the chair. His jaw was fixed, his teeth no doubt grinding mercilessly together behind his lips.

Belle gradually curled her leg around his underneath the table, a feeble attempt to anchor him down to his spot. He barely nudged her thigh in response.

"Give it time," she advised, sucking the whipped cream off the end of her plastic spoon. Her tray contained an open carton of milk—chocolate, which earned her a brown mustache that Rumpel readily pointed out more than once—plus a half-eaten grilled cheese trapped in saran wrap with burnt edges and cheese that was much too thick to swallow, and a cup of Jell-O that wiggled more than Red on the dance floor.

But, lo and behold, the dessert was tasty. A heavenly slice of chocolate fudge cake topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry.

Or, at least there had been a cherry before it mysteriously disappeared off her cake. It left behind telltale pink stains in the whipped cream to mark its absence. She had the sneaking suspicion that the cherry stem on the table wasn't sitting precariously close to Rumpel's side of the table for any old reason.

Even more surprising: it was tied in a knot. She never knew he could tie a cherry stem in a knot with his tongue.

It gave her a little thrill, partly because it was yet another piece to the mystery of Rumpelstiltskin uncovered. Perhaps one of these days they could hold a contest to see which one of them could tie cherry stems the quickest. Of course that would mean she would have to learn it herself. Maybe he could teach her.

"I've done enough waiting, Belle," he reminded her, sounding quite tired. His eyes kept flicking toward the clock on the wall with the urgency of a ticking bomb ready to detonate. She reached across the table to stroke his hand, but he barely registered her touch. No doubt a flurry of _what-ifs_ was taking root inside his mind.

What if Emma could not wake Bae? What if Bae awoke and ended up hating his father for his dark deed? What if this was the tragic end to his story, filled with sorrow and broken promises in the vein of a Shakespeare play?

What the poor man needed was something to distract his worried mind.

"Open up," Belle demanded, yanking him abruptly out of his troubling thoughts. As though emerging from a daydream, he blinked his eyelids a few times dazedly.

"Wha—" That was all he managed to say before Belle thrust the spoonful of chocolate cake deep in his mouth.

At first he was pleasantly surprised by the invasion, his eyes popping wide. Then, he feverishly sucked on the spoon, claiming every ounce of its contents. Slowly, she slipped the spoon from his mouth to find it absolutely clean of chocolate stains. Rumpel's eyes closed in pure bliss, his body finally relaxing in his chair, only his tongue moving as it licked the curve of his lips in search of more of the delectable sweetness.

"Delicious," he moaned sensually.

Belle smiled proudly as he eagerly dipped an elegant finger in the cloud of whipped cream and gingerly lapped that away, too. He was on a whole new level of pleasure. She wouldn't be surprised if Rumpel was one of the few to argue that there were better things in the world than sexual interactions with a woman. Like cherries and fudge, for example.

"Oh, that is fantastic," he crooned, dipping his head back as though riding out a wave of ecstasy. Then his eyes shot open and he grinned meaningfully in her direction. Spin, spin, spin the wheel…"But it would be selfish of me to have all the fun. I want you to share it with me."

His finger dived into the creamy substance once more. Belle lightly placed her spoon on the tray and folded her arms on the table. She watched him with unadulterated wonder, the way a child would observe every shiny toy in the world's biggest toy store. Now, what was that man up to?

"Don't be silly. I already treated myself to half the cake—"

Before she could protest any further, his finger gracefully entered her mouth, probing between her petal-soft lips. It delved along her inner cheek and the tip of her tongue. The sweetness of the whipped cream bloomed over her palate and she instinctively clamped down on his finger to suck away the rest of it. She felt the heat scorch her neck and cheeks as she willingly leaned forward, taking in as much of him as she possibly could.

When he began to remove his finger from her mouth, she craned her head with it to hang onto the tip a second longer.

He was right. That was spectacular.

His hand did not drop to the tray again like she expected it would. Instead, it lingered by her rosy cheek, summoning that shade of delicate pink he so admired. He caught a curl of her chestnut hair and wove it through his fingers, slippery as silk. Leaning closer, he placed a kiss between her eyes.

Belle placed a hand on his chest—not to stop him, but to feel his heart throbbing against her palm.

"Promise me….if all else fails…I will always have you. I cannot lose you both. You are the only two people I have ever truly loved," he pleaded, his words fluttering over her warm skin like butterfly wings. Resting her cheek in his open palm, she offered him a reassuring smile. Shifting her head to the left, she pressed a kiss into his palm.

"You are the only man I ever loved. I promise….I will always be here for you," she said, bringing a hand up to trace his jaw. "One way or another."

The engagement ring sparkled on her finger. She wasn't going anywhere, so long as he asked. Even if Bae decreed that he did not approve of their marriage, a world without her true love did not exist. Loving from a distance was better than not loving at all.

"This dessert isn't going to eat itself," Belle changed the subject, taking up her spoon again. "Though, that cherry seems to be the exception."

She batted her eyelashes knowingly, teasingly holding a spoonful of whipped cream topped cake just out of his reach. His face sprung alive with alarm to which she stifled a giggle.

"I have no idea what you're referring to, dearie," he denied, innocently flicking the cherry stem off the table. Knowing his mischievous antics, the man would likely blame the carton of milk before admitting to the crime. Then he latched onto the spoon greedily, devouring every last drop.

…..

Emma gave Belle and Rumpel the run-down after Henry had dashed to the cafeteria to give them the good news of Bae's awakening. Belle had never seen Rumpel move so fast with his limp.

It took a team of doctors near an hour to fully assess Bae's condition. Everyone, including Bae's "fiancée", was resigned to lingering in the hallway until they could finish their work. The doctors took extra care in recording his vitals and asking him sensitive questions to determine whether there was any brain damage. _What is your name? What year is it? Who is the President of the United States? _

They poked Bae's skin with small silver needles, meant to detect lingering effects of paralysis. Up and down, poking his legs like he was some foreign experimental specimen instead of a living, breathing man. The doctors jotted notes, flashed a beam of light back and forth in Bae's eyes, shook their heads and filed out of the hospital room. They could not explain the reason for Bae's abrupt recovery from the coma. The word _miracle _reached Belle's ears more than once as she and Rumpel waited in the hallway.

A miracle. Oh, if they only knew. It seemed this world underestimated the allure and practicality of true love in exchange for scientific reasoning.

"Do you want to see him?"

Belle tilted her head to the hospital room after obtaining clearance from one of the doctors that it was okay to check in on Bae. Rumpel glanced warily at the door and froze in his tracks. One hand wrapped around the end of Bae's cloak and she wondered if he realized he was doing it at all.

"I…I'm not ready yet," he admitted in a short burst of panic.

Belle calmed him, tracing her hands along his face. The kind touch seemed to unravel him completely for he guided her into his arms and buried his face in her shoulder. She held him tightly, her hands rubbing soothing circles into his arched back and stroking his hair. She whispered comforting words in his ear.

The sound of a cough disrupted them. Simultaneously, they glanced up to see Emma poking her head out from the hospital room. She had just finished explaining everything to Bae, telling him what the doctors couldn't. Though she tried to hide it, Belle noticed the moisture in her eyes.

"He's asking for you," she said. A surge of disbelief, uncertainty, and renewed hope surfaced in Rumpel's eyes. Whatever was holding him back apparently released him as he took a hesitant step forward. But Emma objectively held up her hand. "No, not you. Her."

Emma angled her golden head toward Belle, specifically tuning Rumpel out in the background. Her breath instantly hitched in her throat. Bae wanted to speak to her first? Not his father? She sensed Rumpel's hard gaze boring into the skin of her neck. His face was empty, dark, disappointed. Crumbling.

Heartbroken.

"Come in with me," she insisted, taking hold of his hand. Perhaps Bae was only waiting for his father to be brave and make the first move. But Rumpel pulled away, his hand sliding out of her grasp. His aura was increasingly grim and bleak, his hair creating a curtain that shielded his face.

"If Bae wished to speak to me, the invitation would have been extended," he murmured half-heartedly. Belle didn't know which was sadder—the wretched despair carving his face or the undeniable fact that he believed every single word that fell from his own mouth. Weakly, he brushed her hair back from her neck, letting it flow over her shoulder. "I'll be waiting here."

Belle squeezed his hand one last time before making her way to the room where his son lay waiting. That was all either of them were capable of doing lately: waiting. Belle had somehow been appointed as the fine thread that held son and father together. Like a rose found among a patch of thorns. The Sleeping Beauty story floated around her mind—she was the transformed flowerbed separating the prince from the sleeping wonder he was journeying to awaken.

It seemed the brothers Grimm had it right, after all.

…

"Hello, Bae," Belle greeted warmly as she entered his hospital room. It would be best if they started out on the right foot. "May I?"

She motioned a hand to the chair by his bedside, asking his permission to sit down. Ever so slightly, he dipped his head in approval.

He was still lying flat on his back, with the fluorescent lights glowing above his head. His fingers twitched wildly by his sides, his legs shifting and squirming under the sterile cotton blanket that draped his body below the waist. It was his way of becoming accustomed to the strength of his muscles. His eyes roved about the room, unfocused and without recognition. They surveyed the beeping monitors, the too-white walls, the chart hanging on the wall, and then finally landed on her.

The intense shade of those eyes startled her for a moment. Startled her and enthralled her. A rich brown, the color of earth in the summer, glistening with flecks of gold.

He truly was Rumpelstiltskin's boy.

"Belle, right?" He managed to lift a finger in her direction, though it fell to the bed shortly after. She nodded, her mind racing at the unveiled truth: _he heard us. _A lazy smile crossed Bae's face as he scrutinized her curiously. "You're pretty. Prettier than the vision I conjured of you in my 'sleep'." He used weak air-quotes, hooking his fingers into the blanket. A light blush rose to her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Bae groaned and thrashed a hand against his forehead in exasperation. "Sorry. Must be the stuff they're giving me. You're….the one who read to me while I was stuck in the coma."

Belle absorbed the faint gratitude embedded in his raspy voice.

"I hope you didn't mind the tale of Sleeping Beauty," she replied, trying to make light of the situation. She could tell there was something else on his mind. He studied her from the crown of her head to the shoes on her feet, not in any desirable fashion but the way that suggested he was comparing what he was seeing with an image in his mind.

Eventually, Belle's curiosity eclipsed her patience.

"Why did you ask for me?"

Bae's line of sight faltered from the tip of her white scars on her wrist, reluctantly returning to her face. Belle habitually tugged the sleeves over her scars so Bae would not see. It wasn't that she was afraid or ashamed to show them for what they were, but that was a story fit for another time.

"You started talking to me while I was still in the coma. You mentioned that you had fallen in love with my father. Implied it, anyway. Why?" Bae's gaze was critical, careful, yet Belle held it fiercely. She had suspected this question would be one of the ones Bae inquired about.

"Why did I mention it? Or why did I fall in love with him?"

Both of them knew which one held his interest. Bae's hands curled into shaky fists by his sides. He was upset, most likely experiencing a whirlwind of emotions he had been unable to express for quite some time. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before answering.

"Why did you fall in love with him? After that dark thing entered my father's body, there was hardly anything left behind to love. All he cared about was power and he was afraid of losing it. Opening his heart to someone like you wouldn't be at the top of his To-Do list."

The way Bae spoke about his father—cold and disassociated—pained Belle's heart severely. It was the invasive feeling of a bony hand clawing into it, clutching it, and squeezing it until she could hardly breathe. Surely, there must be some part of Bae that disagreed with what he was saying. There must be some part of him that still loved his father.

"You're wrong, Bae. As I told you, it was difficult to see at first, and there was no doubt that something dark had taken root in him. But there was still a piece of your father inside that body, fighting to reach the surface. I wanted to save him, free him," she argued, but Bae's focus trailed to the window. He didn't look convinced. "Your father is a good man."

Bae's eyes snapped back to her, baffled. Clearly, he begged to differ.

"Once he was."

He didn't need to finish the thought aloud to allow the rest of his meaning to shine through with the heavy volume of unspoken words. _He is that man no more. _Belle gripped the edges of her chair and leaned forward. It made Bae shrink back into his pillow a bit, as if she were truly a force to be reckoned with.

"He is," she repeated firmly, hardly leaving any room for argument.

What she was quickly learning, however, was that Bae was stubborn in his own right. It was no wonder that fourteen year old boy had convinced Rumpelstiltskin to make a deal with the intention of giving up his power, even if Rumpel ultimately failed to carry it out. Rumpel seemed to surround himself by ambitious people, inevitably losing his heart in the process. Was he secretly hoping that by being close to those that were brave in nature, some of that bravery would rub off on his own character?

"You call him good? How much has he really told you? Belle, he's hurt people. I've seen it. Whatever he is, it isn't human. Just a wolf in sheep's clothing," he muttered.

He returned to watching the window, with the blinds half-drawn. Belle realized that Bae needed something more substantial. He needed the truth.

"There was a time where I…lived with him, as his maid. Over _there_. I made a deal with him. He protected my town and my people from harm in exchange for my companionship. I stayed with him for months—from the height of winter to the beginning of spring—and I fell in love with him. Whether you choose to believe it or not, the two of us are true loves. He had a chance to return love, but he chose not to. Do you know why?"

"Because he's a coward," Bae retorted. The fact that this was his first guess revealed the depth of his scorn.

"No. It was because of you. If he gave in to true love, his power would be gone. The dark force possessing him would disappear and wither away, but he would also lose any chance he ever had of finding you. He chose you."

Bae audibly scoffed, his legs jolting beneath the blanket.

"Is that what he told you?" Belle frowned under the layer of venom lacing Bae's words.

"That's what I know in my heart. Your father is a good man, Bae. If you only let him."

She did not know whether her words were getting through to him, but he fell awfully silent in that hospital bed. She found herself tracing the gem of her engagement ring, her eyes lowering to take in its brilliance under the glow of the lights. She sensed Bae follow her movements, but she did not try to cover up the truth.

"Good enough…to marry?"

Belle lifted her chin to find Bae staring intently at the ring on her finger. He did not look offended or outraged that his father had found someone else to share love with. He simply looked perplexed and struggling to sort through dozens of questions. Belle recalled the night Rumpel proposed to her and that feeling of happiness overwhelmed her once more.

"Yes," she automatically confirmed, nodding frantically. Bae looked surprised in the presence of her enthusiasm. "He proposed to me recently. Please don't think I'm trying to interfere in your family. It's partly why I ventured with him to find you. I wanted your permission to marry your father. I suppose you could call it your blessing," she explained carefully.

Bae's brow furrowed.

"You're asking my permission…to marry my father?" It must have astounded him that Belle showed such consideration for his relationship with his father. "You mean if I didn't want you marrying him, you would just….not?"

Belle's throat constricted tightly, water stinging her eyelids. She hoped it would not come to that. The thoughts in her head spun violently while Bae watched closely to see what she would do.

With a deep exhale of air through her nose, Belle slipped the engagement ring off her finger. Bae froze as she reached over the railing of the bed and clasped his hand. It was terribly cold when it lay across her warm one. Deliberately, she pressed the ring into his palm and curled his fingers over it, placing it over his chest. He eyed her quizzically.

"It's your choice, Bae. I respect that. The last thing I want to do is give you and your father another reason to stand apart from each other," she said sincerely, dipping her head. Scraping back the chair, she rose to her feet. The emptiness of her finger was so noticeable that she instinctively wove her fingers over the place where her engagement ring used to be. "Are you ready to speak to your father?"

Bae glanced uneasily toward the hallway. The ring was still caught in his fist, as though it were a powerful talisman that would bring him comfort. He licked his dry lips, rested his head back on the pillow.

"Send him in."

Belle nodded once and swept out into the hallway. Rumpel had been sitting in a chair that was positioned against the wall and he jumped to his feet when he noticed her emerge from the hospital room. He searched her face for any indication of how the interaction went, but she merely patted his chest.

"Your turn," she whispered.

He sighed deeply—this was it. The moment of truth. He gently caught her wrist and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. When he pulled back, he inevitably discovered the absence of her engagement ring. His finger traced over the bare spot where a sparkling gem should be. Before he could demand the reason, Belle pulled her hand away and retrieved her book, occupying the chair that he had been sitting so rigidly in a moment ago.

"Good luck."

He was going to need it.

….

It seemed a lifetime before Rumpelstiltskin crossed the threshold into Bae's room.

Dozens of energy-consuming emotions raged inside him—fear, nervousness, hope, longing, to name a few. This, the act of meeting his son after three centuries, was possibly the hardest thing he ever had to do. For the first time since being mortal in their land, he had absolutely no control over the spiraling events that were forthcoming.

Bae did not bother to look up and acknowledge his father's presence darkening the doorway, but the sudden setting of his jaw suggested he sensed it all the same. Maybe he assumed that it would be too painful to visualize Rumpel in the form of the man he once was.

Without a word, his tongue coarse as cotton, Rumpel crossed to the chair and lowered his body into it. Hopefully, Bae did not mind. His son stared fixedly at the window, his fingers curling into his palm. Rumpel fervently rolled his cane between his knees while he struggled to decide how to start.

_Long time no see, Bae? No, he'll not appreciate a quip. _

"Hello, Bae," he ultimately resolved to sticking with a simplistic greeting.

For an instant, those once youthful eyes flickered his way and returned to the window before Rumpel could detect any particular emotions. One thing was for certain: he was upset. Bae inherited his father's manner of anger—quiet rage, never making an obnoxious scene, often sulking in miserable silence and focusing on something other than the object of his grief.

Rumpel loosened the tie around his neck to accommodate the swelling lump in his throat.

This was going well.

"How have you been…faring?" Silence. A deep hiss of air through the nose. Bae's knuckles cracked as his fists tightened, the sheets wrinkling.

Rumpel mentally scolded himself as he realized the question was a pitiful one on his part. From what he could see of Bae's face, he read the answer like he would a cure from one of his spell books. _You dropped me into a swirling vortex that led to another land where I've been forced to survive on my own, abandoned and fatherless. How do you think I'm faring, papa? _

At least Rumpel still hoped Bae would find it in his heart to call him by such a personal title. His ears had not heard it in so long; he almost forgot how it sounded falling from his son's lips.

It was too hot in that hospital room. A bead of sweat rolled over his brow and he wiped the salty drop away with the back of his hand. The chair felt too hard underneath his legs, like he was perched on the edge of a stony cliff and was about to tumble into open air, thousands of miles above a miniscule landing.

Dipping a hand inside his suit, his fingers brushed the folded crisp page that depicted Bae's drawing. Somehow, he could not stand to leave it behind in that meaningless wreck of an apartment. It was akin to receiving one of those personal crafts from his child with unconditional sayings of _I love my daddy. _Except this was worth so much more than clay hearts and scribbled family drawings.

Third time's the charm.

"I found the drawing you made," he informed his son.

Pulling the paper from his suit pocket, he took great care in unfolding it and laid it in his lap. There was a thin crease running through the middle of the page now, but it still stole Rumpel's breath from his lungs. It also brought Bae to life, his not-so-Shirley Temple head whipping around in shock.

"You went through my apartment?"

Bae's tone climbed at least three notes in his annoyance and invasion of privacy. It reminded Rumpel of all the missed opportunities he had lost with Bae in his teenage years, of potentially being the concerned parent who invaded his child's privacy. Bae glanced at the picture in his father's lap and scowled.

"I only drew that to remember who my father used to be, not the dark being he was when I left that world behind."

Rumpel discarded the picture on the bedside table and gripped the head of his cane until his hand ached from the pressure. If Bae noted the familiarity of his father's lame leg, he didn't show it.

"Please, Bae. I can become that man again. My curse is gone, the magic draining away…but I don't need it. Not if I have you." Bae's face hardened as though he were considering it.

"If you have me…and Belle," Bae filled in the blanks. The tone wasn't exactly accusatory, but Rumpel winced in retrospect, anyway. He hadn't wanted to mention Belle just yet because he wasn't sure whether Bae was comfortable with the idea of her proximity.

"Where is Belle's ring?"

He scanned the bedside table and the length of the bed, but it was nowhere in sight. Rumpel's brows knitted tensely. It must be here somewhere. It was a straightforward equation to grasp: Belle wore the ring on her finger when she walked in here, yet it was no longer on her finger afterwards. It was not just any other non-sentimental, useless item, either. Belle would notice if it somehow slipped off.

Which meant she had taken it off herself.

Bae extended his fist, which Rumpel realized had never opened once since he stepped into this room. Now, it blossomed like a flower in spring and revealed its contents. Belle's engagement ring rested in the cup of Bae's palm, cradled above his lifelines. Rumpel made no move to snatch it, but the sight of it in Bae's possession unnerved him.

Did this mean Bae did not approve of Belle? Had Belle already accepted it?

"When I was in that coma, I remembered Belle reading to me. The sound of her voice, her comforting words…It was like she was tethering me to that outside world, reeling me upwards to the surface. She was a beam of light stirring me awake," he mused. He pinched the delicate band of the ring between two fingers, the gem gleaming.

Rumpel had stiffened in his chair. The hospital room briefly faded from his vision, replaced with that forest clearing and two lines of crude black stitches where eyes should be. The Seer's slippery voice clamored in his ear: _Darkness…flicker of light…._

_This is what she meant. _

Snapping back to reality, he noticed that Bae's expression had lost its brief soft quality.

"You could have done it. You could have broken your curse then and there. You once promised me that if there was a way, you would take it," Bae exclaimed. Rumpel hung his head. In a way, he had broken Bae's promise a second time while also shattering the heart of his true love.

_Third time's the charm, indeed, _he thought miserably.

"Yes, I was able to do it. I chose not to," he said quietly. Why did those words sound familiar in his mind? Oh, yes—it derived from one of the pieces of his past he stuffed into a dark hole with a cement cover blocking out the light. "The temptation was there. It would have been so easy to return Belle's kiss, to break my curse once and for all with the reward of lying in her arms forever. But I would have regretted it. I wanted you, Bae. I chose _you. _Only you can ultimately decide if I am fortunate enough to have you and Belle."

He tortured his heart with the unwavering sight of that ring between his son's fingers. His fate lay in Bae's hands, literally. Bae tilted his head suspiciously.

"If you had to choose?" Bae was testing him, he was sure of it. His answer hardly took more than a second to formulate. He did not even allow himself a chance to think, but even if he did it would be the same.

"It would always be you, Bae. I've caused you more suffering than you ever deserved to bear. All I want is your happiness. If that's not with me, so be it. If it's not with Belle in the picture…so be it. Say the word and I will do everything in my strength to ensure it. Yours was the first and last promise I ever broke."

He closed his eyes, waited for Bae to order him to leave. He waited for Bae to tell him that Belle was not welcome. He waited….but only silence buzzed in his ears. Then came a soft sigh.

"There's no need to break Belle's heart twice. I kind of…like her," Bae hesitantly replied. Rumpel's eyelids shot open, his heart thudding against his ribcage. Bae offered a half-smile. It was not as golden as one of his genuine smiles, but it was a start. "You know, I've been running for so long and I'm tired of it. I half-expected you to be that guy who made the stupid move of letting go of my hand. You're not the man I remember dropping me into that vortex. Opening up your heart to Belle, chasing me for three centuries…that's the bravest thing I've ever seen you do."

Rumpel barely breathed for fear of breaking this moment to pieces. Bae decidedly extended his hand and placed Belle's ring into his palm.

"I forgive you," Bae whispered.

Rumpel released a shuddering gasp, his body trembling violently with the impact of it. How many times had he fantasized and dreamed about hearing those three words?

Bae stretched his hand farther across the bedrail and Rumpel understood that it was an offering of peace. Ever so carefully, Rumpel leaned forward in his seat to hold his son's hand. A tingling sensation shot up his arm from the touch.

The moment they made physical contact, every nerve in Rumpel's body strummed like live wire. Every bit of resolve crumbled into dust as though Bae had swept a hand across the well that housed his willpower. Using the support of his son's hand as leverage, Rumpel stumbled to his feet. The cane clattered to the scuffed tiled floor, the drawing rustling on the bedside table from the movement of his body.

Before he knew it, he had reached Bae's hospital bed and took his boy into his arms. The sobs shook his lean frame as he finally embraced his son, cries of _my boy _and _I'm so sorry _escaping his lips. Bae willingly returned the embrace, his arms clinging to Rumpel's back as if he truly needed his father's comfort. Bae buried his face in his shoulder and coughed. Probably trying to stifle the rising tide of his emotions as well.

"I missed you, Bae," Rumpel murmured into that head of brown hair, the light strands tickling his nose.

His son's grip tightened in response, his palm roughly patting his father's back. Rumpel could feel something dampen the silk dress shirt he wore under his suit jacket—Bae's tears were tiny glistening jewels sliding across the fabric.

"I missed you…papa," he replied, his voice thick and raw.

The sound of that one word broke Rumpel further, the hot moisture pooling under his eyelids no matter how rapidly he blinked, effectively blurring his vision. His limbs were weaker than the lame leg he had endured for so long. Only the strength of his son's arms seemed to uphold him.

After another sharp gasp for breath, Rumpel regained his composure and settled back from Bae's hospital bed. He straightened his tie, combed his fingers through his feathery hair. Bae wiped his nose on the blanket and he had the sudden urge to correct his son as any parent would during their upbringing. Given the fragile moment that passed between them, he let it go.

As though Bae had just recognized it, he suddenly caught the end of the tawny cloak in his hand, running its rough texture through his fingers. His face softened considerably, so much that he had to swallow whatever stone had lodged in his throat. Rumpel stayed still as Bae brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed it—a small smile suggested it still smelled like home.

"You…you kept my cloak?" He tried to tug it from Rumpel's neck, but Rumpel quickly grasped Bae's wrist to prevent the departure of the cloak. Desperation clouded his brown eyes and Bae relented his hold on it.

"Of course I did. It was one of the last things I had to remember you by. I would not trade it for anything in the world…except you. I kept your ball, too. It's sitting in my shop in Storybrooke. Do you remember it?" Bae's expression grew blank and peaceful as he dragged up the memory from centuries past. Fondness transpired across his face, brightening his features so that even the bruises seemed to heal faster.

"How could I forget it? You hated seeing me disappointed that we didn't have enough money for one of the balls in the marketplace. Other kids in our town were able to buy them, but not us. You hated it….so you spent hours making me one yourself. Hours that you could have spent spinning. It's one of my favorite memories of home."

Rumpel brushed his hand across Bae's wrist and smiled with relief. It was one of his favorite memories, too.

"Those hours lost in my spinning were worth the happiness on your face." Bae traced a finger across the frayed threads at the end of the cloak.

"What will happen if you take it off?"

Rumpel frowned. The knowledge of the consequences of removing the talisman caused him to secure the cloak tighter around his neck. He cast his eyes to the tiled floor, bending briefly to pick up his fallen cane.

"If I take this cloak off, I risk losing my memory of who I truly am. Fear not—I will never become that monster you knew once, but I would be as much of a stranger to you. I would forget you, Bae. This is the only object that allows me to cross beyond Storybrooke without repercussions."

Bae's lips parted in fearful concern. His hands returned to his sides atop the sterile white sheet, making sure not to come in contact with the cloak. But there was something else etched deep in those brown eyes. Fascination? Maybe. The word lingered on his tongue, teasing the tip. It was…it was….

Pride.

"You risked losing your memory and walking into an unfamiliar world…to find me?" Bae radiated admiration in powerful waves. From the sound of it, his father ranked up there with Hercules.

"Bae, I would have willingly crossed oceans on my own two feet if that's what it took to find you," he assured without skipping a beat. He meant every word. For a time, they slipped into comfortable silence, no words needed to express the miraculous reformation of their relationship. Maybe fate was not so cruel to him, after all.

"Bae….Would you…." He paused to experiment with a few choice words in his head. He wanted this request to be perfect, not to sound too desperate or fumbling on his tongue. Bae cocked an eyebrow expectantly. "Would you do me the honor of being my best man at the wedding?"

The idea had popped into his mind without warning. He hadn't realized how much he wanted it to be a reality until it formed from the depths of his mind. Until a few minutes ago, there would have been little chance of making it a reality. On the heels of earning Bae's blessing to marry Belle, he would like nothing more than to have Bae be there on that special day.

He had struggled for a time with the prospect of nominating a best man. He even created a list of candidates—_Charming? Archie? Grumpy?—_but each one was eventually struck through with a critical red line of ink.

Bae smiled, pure and bright this time.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, papa."

….

_**Once more, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed recently. A big shout-out to Huntress4455, Cheshire Illusionist-OUAT Fan, kirauza343, Paola1967, Grace5231973, LionshadeSC, discotimelord, Marchonea, MyraValhallah, Jennifer, cheesyteal'c, The Auburn Girl, Hyourinmarulce, SwanQueen4055, and Guest. **_

_**Thank you, everyone, for reading! Hope the three week break for Once is going well for you so far. **_


	48. Chapter 48

_**A/N: First off, I am terribly sorry it took incredibly long to update this latest chapter of my story. It has been one too many weeks and I apologize sincerely for that. One word: finals. I haven't even been able to write anything solid for about two weeks or so. But enough of my excuses—I have to thank everyone who has read the last chapter and left amazing reviews. You guys are absolutely wonderful. So, here is a nice long chapter to make up for the wait. **_

"Oh…ah….oh, yeah…right there, Belle…right…there…little more to the left…"

"What did I tell you? Silly man, I told you I knew what I was doing. Doesn't this feel good?"

Once more, Belle deliberately brought her foot down in the center of Rumpelstiltskin's lean, bare back. His spine arched in response, a pleasurable moan escaping his lips.

He had finally agreed to let her test out that unique massage technique she had read about. While he lay stretched out on the floor above a cotton blanket with a fluffy pillow supporting his head, Belle padded barefoot across the contours of his back, memorizing every curve and patch of skin. She made sure to hit all the right spots with the balls of her feet and tips of her toes.

How did this man walk about without severe discomfort? She already counted three oversized, swollen knots rising like mountains from his otherwise smooth skin. It took all ten toes to release the tension in each of the knots. And that was on one side of his back.

"To think….this is something I can look forward to for the rest of my days," he groaned into the pillow.

The anxious lines in his forehead faded away and relaxed as she worked a kind of magic that he had never experienced before. Belle guided her big toe down the length of his spine and his hands rumpled the blanket as a deep thrill shuddered through his body.

"That…feels…wonderful. I would recommend you for this town's masseuse, except I would loathe it dearly to have you walk across any man's back but my own. No, I think I'll keep you all to myself. My little secret," he declared, though his voice was a bit muffled from the way his head buried luxuriously into the pillow.

Belle lifted her body up onto her toes, the pressure digging deep into a nasty knot between his shoulder blades. She rocked back and forth from the arch of her foot to her heel, coaxing it out.

"Yes, I'd hate to bring out the green monster of jealousy in you, Rumpelstiltskin," she teased, to which she earned a vague denial lost in the pillow's fabric. "Or earn enough money to pay you back for all the times you dipped into your wealth for me. I keep telling you, I have no use for material items. Except books. Books are mandatory."

Belle pivoted with ease on the balls of her feet and trekked across his lower back. She took a moment to nudge her heel into the small of his back, ridding it of a particularly sore spot. The poor man—it was no wonder it took him longer to travel between his home and the shop these days.

"As I told you, Belle, there's no need to pay me back a single cen—ooh! Ah! Oh…yeah," he issued a deep drawl of satisfaction, his fists flowering across the blanket and releasing every ounce of tension. Then he lifted his head from the pillow, tilting it a bit to the right in the manner of a fleeting thought. "Speaking of books…there's something I wanted to show you. But first, I'll need my feet."

Belle paused halfway through stroking his midsection with her heel, her attention undeniably snagged. A surprise? One that had to do with books? Oh, my.

Leaping off his back, she offered him a hand to help lift him to his feet. Rumpel elicited a groan that seemed to spring from his toes, arching his back and twisting his torso side to side. He sighed happily—an accommodation for a job well-done.

He slipped on his dress shirt, taking the time to button it up and hide the glorious sight of his skin underneath. Hooking one finger, he made a distinct _come-hither_ gesture and silently beckoned her to follow him. Belle's mind raced with a number of suitable possibilities. How could she resist following to wherever her surprise may be?

Into the kitchen they swept, with Rumpel's gait noticeably confident and eased. It was a huge improvement from the way he was limping earlier.

Belle lingered on the threshold of the kitchen while he made a beeline for a drawer. He fumbled inside, his brow creased with concentration as he searched for an elusive item. There was a rattling noise and as he turned around with a wide grin spreading across his face, she noticed something. A small item dangling from his fingers.

A key.

Of all the options Belle had considered, this had not been one of them. What exactly was he up to?

"A…key?" The smile dimmed a shade or two. The key stopped swaying back and forth. Rumpel offered her a disappointed look, but Belle held his probing gaze.

Had he expected her to understand the key's purpose? How was she supposed to know what the mysterious key unlocked? Why, there must be dozens of keyholes and locks in Rumpelstiltskin's abode, let alone the entire town.

"Come, now, dearie. No need to say it so doubtfully. A…key? No, Belle, it's more like…_a_ _key_!" He twirled the silver ring that held the key around on his finger, his voice rising several notes higher as he tried to get her excited. She eyed it with suspicion. He drifted forward and guided the key into her palm. "All keys have locks. All locks have secrets waiting to be discovered. As it so happens, this particular key belongs to the town library."

A tingling sensation prickled her palm from where the key pressed against it. She studied the tiny brass key, then his expectant face, then the key again. Joy swelled within her heart until she was convinced it would pop out of her chest. Words were lost on her tongue.

So she did the only thing that could remotely express her gratitude: she flung her arms around Rumpelstiltskin's neck and embraced him with all her might.

For a moment, he teetered unsteadily on his heels from the sudden impact of her body, but soon his hand rested against the curve of her back and he returned her embrace. She had never felt so much love for him as she did at that moment.

"Consider this an early wedding present on my behalf," he whispered into the shell of her ear, catching a piece of her chestnut hair and tucking it behind. He carried the weight of her head on his shoulder, two pieces of a puzzle fitting seamlessly together. Belle squeezed his shoulders one last time before pulling away, still in awe as she fingered every inch of the key.

"Me? I'm going to be the town librarian?"

This was a dream come true! Filling the shelves with marvelous volumes and fantastical stories for others to enjoy as much as herself, the familiar aroma of ancient pages wafting under her nose…How many times had she strolled past that library lately and regretted that no one had the will to open it to the public?

"The townspeople voted. They agreed to nominate you as their librarian. It's yours to do with as you please. Shape it up, open it. You belong to this town, Belle. It's about time you found a place to call your own."

Belle wasn't aware that a tear had crawled across her cheek until Rumpel caught it on the tip of his finger. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed the moisture away.

"Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin," she sincerely cried out, pocketing the key.

The first thing she was going to do tomorrow was head down to the library and inspect it to see what she had to work with. There was so much she would need to do to get it up and running! The boards would have to come loose from the windows, the floors swept free of dust, the shelves stocked…Or perhaps she could start with a little guilty pleasure in taking inventory of the books themselves. It tormented her to think those collections and volumes were gathering dust in boxes and discarded in piles.

But that would come tomorrow, a new day. For now, she would sleep on it and be content with dreaming of what would be.

"Oh, but I haven't thought to get you anything! You deserve something in return," she insisted, her mouth pinching in a concerned frown. Guilt blossomed in her heart as he all but shrugged modestly. However, he sensed she would not take no for an answer.

"How about a simple IOU for one of those magical massages?"

He rubbed a hand across his shoulder, enjoying the lasting effects of that experience. Sometimes, he was quite easy to please. Belle playfully regarded his carefree state. By the end of their approaching wedding ceremony, he was bound to have a few more knots borne purely out of stress and nervousness.

"Deal."

….

Emma rapped her knuckles on the doorframe of Jefferson's hospital room, announcing her presence. The 'patient' was awake in bed, playing with the remote attached to the bedframe. Its gray buttons were useful for reclining the hospital bed, raising the bottom half of the mattress, and calling for a nurse should he need any assistance. Emma wondered how many times Jefferson had flagged down Whale.

Those enticing brown eyes sharply connected with her face. They softened immediately and a wide smile broke out across his jaw.

"Emma. Back so soon?"

She didn't bother biting that hook. She knew he had been lonely without her here. Since Grace had been spending the rest of this week with her other family, he would have had to return to that empty mansion on the hill. No wonder he didn't want to be discharged yet. He spent twenty-eight years being alone in this world; another second was unbearable.

"Still playing the role of the seizing patient?" She gave him a warning look. Now that she was back, she fully expected Jefferson to make a miraculous recovery. "I got you something."

She revealed a small white box, the kind that often held clothing. It was the best she could do to make Jefferson's present somewhat presentable without revealing where it was from.

He didn't even follow up with the cliché _you shouldn't have_ line_; _he merely took the box from her hands and flipped off the lid. Tissue paper burst into the sky in an array of colors as he sifted around for his gift. From inside the box he lifted out a bright red View-Master, a children's slide-viewer that would allow Jefferson to view a slideshow of pictures of New York.

"It's not exactly a high-powered telescope, but it was the next best thing I could find," she said weakly. Her nails dug into her hips as she anticipated his reaction.

Jefferson rotated the toy in his hands like a Rubik's cube, examining every angle. Then he held it to his eyes and his eyebrows rose as he thrummed the lever on the side, the pictures flashing by in the machine for him. When he lowered it to his lap, the expression on his face suggested this was the best thing since the creation of the Pillsbury doughboy.

"This is great. It's probably the closest I'll ever get to New York," he insisted. He worked the toy again, just to prove his enthusiasm. "What do I need to board a plane for when I can see it right here? Ah, see, there's the Statue of Liberty…and a man eating a hot dog…and three random, attractive women posing in front of a store called _Dash_. I'll bet they're sisters."

Jefferson whipped his head in Emma's direction, though he didn't remove the toy from his eyes. She had to choke back a giggle. It was just too difficult to take him seriously when he was brandishing that machine like a pair of high-tech secret agent glasses.

"So, is it true? You had Rumpelstiltskin's baby's baby? And I thought Regina's family line was dysfunctional," Jefferson commented. Emma tried not to dwell on that fact. It had taken her enough time and energy to wrap her mind around it…and she was still processing.

Suddenly, it seemed her legs were unable to accommodate her body and she collapsed into the chair beside Jefferson's hospital bed. As if the jetlag wasn't enough to make her want to slumber for one hundred years, the emotions inside her took an even greater toll.

"Yeah, it's true. Figures out of all the available men out there, I had to get involved with the spawn of Rumpelstiltskin," she muttered, mostly to herself. Jefferson snickered in agreement. Was it fate? Or just someone high and mighty having a good laugh at her expense?

Jefferson removed the toy from his face and any trace of humor dissipated.

"I guess this means that you and him are…" He crossed his fingers. Emma shook her head, fighting the urge to grasp Jefferson's hands and untwine his fingers.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I already made my decision and there's no changing it. I chose you," she declared quickly once she witnessed his expression falling into one of woe. Jefferson's eyes boggled in sheer amazement. Perhaps this would be a good time to use the View-Master again. "You can say this is me opening my mind. I tried it with Neal and, for too many reasons that are better off staying in my past, it didn't work. I'd like to try it with you."

Jefferson was speechless. He gazed dazedly about the room, as if stuck in a vivid dream and hopeless to make sense of it. Emma could tell when his normalcy—if that's what she should call it—returned, just by the self-assured smirk spreading with the swiftness of wildfire.

"No one has ever chosen me before. Well, if you insist…"

Emma leaned over the bedrail and smacked him flat on the chest, albeit playfully. Sometimes, she forgot he could be so arrogant. And yet, her mood had lightened considerably from the troubled one she had endured since New York. Jefferson caught her hand and squeezed it tenderly.

"Thank you, Emma."

A sudden knock at the door interrupted them. They both shifted their heads around to witness Dr. Whale standing in the doorway with a clipboard in hand. His icy blue eyes locked onto Emma first, sweeping generously over her body, and she abruptly felt like she could use a shower.

"Sorry to disturb you. I just want to check his vitals. I assume there hasn't been a seizure since the last time you pressed the call button…what was it? Five minutes ago?" Whale glumly marched into the room and scribbled some notes on his clipboard.

At the mention of seizures, Jefferson's attention snapped to Emma, pleading with her upon recognizing the clever spark embedded in those emeralds. _Please, no. Don't be cruel, _he silently begged. His fingers gripped his toy for dear life. But it was already too late; Emma's head was turning in Whale's direction and her lips parted.

"He's faking it, you know." Busted.

….

"See any you fancy?"

Rumpelstiltskin conducted a vast, critical sweep of the diner's interior, carefully observing every available female lunching alone or amongst friends in their pleather cherry red booths. There truly weren't many single ladies in town now that the curse was broken. The good ones had been rejoined with their royal princes and sweethearts, sharing long-awaited kisses and tears, recounting their regrets and forging new memories as fast as their feet could scurry them home.

He tried to avoid Granny's iron gaze as she commanded the chefs in the kitchen like a captain controlling a ship. That woman was single by choice.

"Maybe after a drink or two," Bae muttered and solemnly nursed a mug of beer.

His enthusiasm and patience with his supposedly reformed father had waned since returning from New York. He had been silent and brooding; it was taking some time to adjust to Storybrooke. Rumpelstiltskin was trying to be understanding and offer his son some space, but his nerves grated just as raw.

Or maybe…there was another reason why Bae wasn't in the mood.

"You still love our savior," Rumpel mused softly, sipping his own glass tumbler of scotch. Bae opened his mouth, closed it again. There it was, plain as the nose on Pinocchio's face.

Whereas Emma's walls were concrete and capable of deflecting bullets, his son's walls were transparent glass offering a stark insight into the workings of his mind. Ooh, and Bae was pining. Even as his mouth soured into a malevolent frown, Rumpel knew the truth as confidently as he could recite his ABC's.

"She's _your_ savior. Not mine. To me, she's…just Emma," he replied, keeping his focus directed on the pool of rippling liquid inside his glass. Bae rocked the glass from side to side, the liquid sloshing.

Rumpel hated to see Bae in such a despairing mood. He wished there was a way to ease it, but love had no remedy. Even Snow White had overcome her empty-hearted darkness to once again nurture her undying love for Prince Charming.

"Well, then…you're still in love with Just Emma. Can't say I blame you." Rumpel pretended not to notice the glower that Bae sent him across the table, riddled with accusation. It was merely a confession of fondness. Emma beat out half these women easily.

"How can I not? She's the mother of my child. She's the only girl in this world I got close enough to love. Despite all that…I'm willing to let her go. I want her to be happy, even if it's not with me. You would do the same for Belle, right?"

The alcohol swishing in Rumpel's mouth burned with the ferocity of battery acid all the way down. He never wanted to imagine Belle with any other man, especially so dreadfully close to the date of their wedding. The question irked him the wrong way, instinctively making him bristle. Bae watched him carefully as he internally struggled to reel in his emotions. It was only a theoretical question.

Would he release Belle to the care of another man if it meant her happiness?

"Yes," he answered through his teeth. It would kill him, tear his heart into tatters and run it through a paper shredder, but…"Yes, I would. Her happiness means more to me than my own."

Bae nodded firmly, having just proven his point. Suddenly, their drinks weren't so appetizing. He racked his brain for a decent topic of conversation to fill the increasing void between them. The table felt more like an endless ocean than a few feet of separation.

Should he discuss the weather? It had been a while since they had a torrential rainstorm in Storybrooke. Or…how happy he was to have Bae here with him? Last time he did that, Bae had rolled his eyes and been inches away from groaning with an embarrassed _Daaad. _Or they could mention—

"What was it like when you met my mother?"

Rumpelstiltskin stiffened into stone on his seat. That was the last topic he wished to discuss. His memory of Milah—surprisingly vivid after so many centuries—was tainted by betrayal, rage, malice, sadness…underneath it all was a flicker of love, if that. Before Belle, most of the women he'd had relations with never loved him.

But Bae was waiting for an answer.

"What your mother and I had was not love, Bae. It was an arranged marriage, an old custom in our village those 300 years ago. I developed a kind of love for her, but she…she was happier elsewhere. Nothing more than that."

Rumpelstiltskin waved it off with a flourish of his hand and downed the rest of his drink. One of the serving girls—not Red—tried to offer him another glass, but he covered the top of the tumbler with his palm. Bae had barely touched his lately.

"I think both of us know that's not exactly true, Papa. There's more to the story, isn't there?" Bae centered his penetrating gaze on the side of Rumpel's head, but it was a one-way street. Rumpel chewed mercilessly on the inside of his cheek until the skin puckered and swelled, gnarled by his teeth. Bae sighed. "You know, I've been to Neverland. That was the first place I ended up when I fell into that portal. There was a pirate named Hook. Apparently, he knew you. He told me his version of what happened to my mother."

Hook.

If he hadn't hung the filthy cur out to dry years ago, he might have jumped out of this booth and ventured off to finish the job. Rumpel closed his eyes, despising the onslaught of memories. The irony was cruel beyond measure. He would willingly release Belle for the sake of happiness, but not Milah. If he'd known then what he knew now, things might be different.

He slowly pried open his eyelids and expected to witness a handful of stormy accusations on Bae's face, but his expression was considerably broken and conflicted. Like a boy who had lost his way.

"My mother left me," he whispered dejectedly. It seared into Rumpel's heart as hotly as if someone had poked it with a burning iron rod. He awkwardly reached a hand across the table and placed it over Bae's. His son didn't wrench it away. "Did she even love me at all?"

Rumpel took back everything he ever thought about the situation with Milah being different a second time around. He suddenly hated her more than the day he crushed her heart. It was a pity she couldn't be here to witness the ache and longing in Bae's eyes, longing for a mother who barely held him in her arms or stayed awake with him through the night as a baby.

No, that was always him.

"Bae, you must understand. Your mother wanted more out of life than I could ever give her. She was an adventurous woman with a fierce spirit and easily bored in one place. I once told you that your mother was dead. The reason I did that was to protect your heart. I didn't want you to think her departure was your fault. I didn't want you to nurture false hope of her return because, believe me, Bae, she wasn't coming back."

Water welled up from underneath Bae's eyelids, but he rapidly blinked it away. Rumpel knew it must be difficult for his son to hear such talk about his mother, but he made a vow never to lie to his son again. Bae cleared his throat and Rumpel sensed the worst had passed.

"Belle loves you?"

He wondered if his son was having second thoughts about relinquishing Belle's ring in acceptance of their marriage. Or was this a question borne of concern to assure that Belle would not make the same mistake as Milah?

Rumpel smiled fondly when thinking of his bride-to-be. Belle was here to stay. He would willingly stake his life on it.

"Yes. And she will love you, too," he reassured his son, squeezing the hand that curled around Bae's glass. He drew his hand back to his side of the table. Bae's tears had dried for now. There would be more talk of Milah in the future, he expected, but for now they were content to let it lie.

In fact…

Bae's brown eyes glimmered with something other than sadness. Lucidity, delight, intrigue. They were trained slightly beyond Rumpel's shoulder. What the devil was he gawking at? Rumpel shifted his head an inch and Bae's focus snapped back to his father's face.

Oh, yes, something had caught his eye. Rumpel smirked knowingly.

"To whom do you owe the bedroom eyes?" Bae fidgeted in his seat.

"I'm not giving bedroom eyes to anyone," he denied, though his voice splintered a bit. The pink hue creeping along his neck begged to differ. Rumpel chuckled low and deep in his throat.

"Please, Bae. During my centuries of living, I have frequented enough taverns and bars to recognize a feisty pair of bedroom eyes. You're wearing your high-beams."

Rumpel boldly shifted around in his seat to visually devour the young woman sitting in the booth behind them. She was a timid thing, a delicate flower of a girl with flowing waves of seductive red hair that cascaded beyond her shoulders. A lovely tune escaped her pressed lips as she hummed over her menu. She caught Rumpel staring, though it was her two sapphire jewels that flitted away.

He turned back around to face Bae, who was rubbing his palms together in front of his lips. Probably gathering the courage to ask her out.

"Not a bad catch, if I do say so myself," Rumpel commended, extra loud for the red-head to hear. He made a show of examining his menu. "What shall we have for lunch, Bae? Crab or flounder?"

There was a hasty shuffling behind them, a muffled padding of sensible flats on the tiled floor, and the red-head rushed by, aiming for the exit. Bae gaped at Rumpel in disbelief.

"If you disapproved, you could have said so. Preferably using an indoor voice so that the entire town doesn't hear," Bae retorted, but Rumpel shrugged carelessly. The crab and flounder weren't very good choices, after all. He hated seafood.

"Relax. Believe it or not, I just did you a favor. You were visually undressing a mermaid. Come nightfall, a tail would pop. It'd make getting to know her a bit awkward."

Bae blanched and craned his head as he peered out the window for a final glimpse of this so-called mermaid. The ones in Neverland weren't that hospitable or possessed such good singing voices.

"Thank…you?" The mermaid would probably never come near him again. Bae squirmed in his seat, eyes darting everywhere but directly at his father's face. Their talk fell dead, the air felt too heavy between them. Suddenly, Bae wanted some space from his father. "I'm going to grab one of those cookies at the bar. You want one?"

Bae's taste-buds were craving a rich chocolate chip cookie. Rumpel's head shot up in surprise as his son awaited an answer.

"An M&M one would be nice. Make sure you count how many there are—I want the cookie with the most," he agreed. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he fumbled for some money, but Bae already grasped a five dollar bill between his fingers.

"I've got it," he insisted, motioning for his father to leave it alone. Ever since beginning his track record of stealing, one of his pet peeves was allowing others to pay for him, especially when it came to food. Bae swiftly whirled toward the bar…

…and succeeded in crashing into another person. A young woman whose intentions were squarely set on the booth the mermaid had just left moments ago. Their bodies collided hard—it was a good thing she wasn't carrying a drink or else it would have drenched their bodies.

"I'm so sorry. I guess I didn't see you there. Sorry," Bae repeated, growing flustered.

He helped steady the girl on her feet, his hands subsequently coming in contact with the soft flesh of her upper arms. There was a chuckle behind them. Of course his father would find this funny.

Luckily, the girl he nearly knocked down wore a carefree half-smile as she brushed herself off. He admired the lavender summer dress that hung attractively on her slender frame, his gaze inevitably traveling lower to the subtle flats encasing her small feet. There was hardly anything to the flats; anything less and she would be traveling barefoot. There was a low _hmm_ and his attention shot upwards to her face again. He averted his eyes as he realized he'd been caught staring. Though, the way the pink fullness of her bottom lip became caught by her teeth was a bit distracting.

"No worries. I'm fairly certain I've been dealt a worse fate in this town than being taken off my feet by a stranger," she said with a nimble shake of her head. Her voice was silvery, reminding him of a light spring breeze whispering through an open window to caress his cheek—lilting, pure, refreshing.

Bae wiped his brow in relief as her words caught up with him.

"Thank gods for that," he exclaimed. A slight furrow marred her forehead and he mentally berated himself for such a pitiful comment. Somehow, he had been transformed into a bumbling fool, unable to locate the right words. "Not about that worse fate. I would never wish that on anyone, least of all you. I meant I'm glad you're okay."

The half-smile returned, only this time it was almost a true smile and radiant as the sunlight beyond the diner's walls. Maybe even brighter than that.

"Look, I was just about to buy one of Granny's cookies. Why don't I buy you one to make up for it?"

A rosy blush flooded her cheeks. It would have caused him to think he had been too straightforward, but there was obvious excitement flitting across her face. Bae sensed his father's amusement drilling holes into his shoulder blades.

"Aren't you a knight in shining armor? Lucky for you, I happen to be a fan of Granny's cookies," she consented.

Bae's soul did backflips with content. He'd been hoping she would say yes. His foot nudged something on the ground and they both noticed it at the same time. It was a sketchpad, the rough brown backing staring up at them. She must have dropped it when he bumped into her.

"Oh, you dropped—"

"It's okay. I can—"

They both bent to retrieve the pad and he hardly registered that his hand was still resting on her forearm. A few wisps of her blonde hair tickled his skin, as teasing as downy feathers. At the moment they bent their knees and he extended his hand out for the drawing pad, the dial on his watch seemed to get stuck in the stray strands of golden hair. The next thing he knew, her head yanked downward and she cried out in alarming discomfort.

"Sorry! It's this watch—it's stuck in your hair! Hold on, stay still and I'll…"

His words trailed off as they were overridden by her soft moans, her eyes squeezed shut. He wondered if he meant the words to be soothing or if it was to save himself further embarrassment. No, wait, it was too late for that. People in booths and on stools at the bar turned their heads and whispered. Bae tried wrestling the strands of gold away from the watch's dial, but it was like fighting with barbed wire.

"On the plus side, you have incredibly strong hair." The girl didn't look too pleased with that sentiment.

The whispers were getting louder in volume, echoing throughout the diner in a distorted jumble. Behind the bar, Granny pursed her lips and revealed a pair of shears. Sharp, severe, glinting from the milky overhead lights, Bae figured those shears could easily snip through steel, never mind snipping hair. The girl's eyes flew open wide as she heard the crisp _snip-snip _of the blades. It resulted in frantic pulling and trying to use Bae as a human shield.

Apparently, she had a fear of getting her hair cut.

"Shh, it's okay. I can fix this. Just stop moving and I promise I'll free you," Bae murmured comfortingly, his fingers scraping over the dial.

The girl must have recognized the sincerity embedded in his expression for she leaned her weight against him and stilled in motion. Her shaky breath made a few of the strands float upward and grazed his skin. Unintentionally, he caught a whiff of her scent—lilac and something else. Something sweet. The phrase _summer rain _came to mind.

The dial eventually loosened and the strands of hair were released from its hold. The girl let out a whoosh of weak air through her lips and patted her hair down over the curve of her shoulder. Bae glared at the troublesome watch on his wrist. It was one of the watches he had impulsively kept after Emma obtained them in his name all those years ago.

"Does this mean you're not interested in that cookie?"

Bae dropped his eyes to the black-and-white tiled floor. Shame darkened his face and caved his shoulders inward. Another one gone. But a strange noise filled his ears. Laughter. By gods, she was laughing.

"It's no big deal. That's not the first time something like that has happened to me recently," she giggled.

Bae lifted his eyes, only to watch her green eyes sing. She gathered her hair in a fist and scooped it over her shoulder. He never knew there was so much hair sprouting from her head; it traveled down to her waist and barely stopped there. It was a shiny, sleek, golden waterfall.

"It's all this hair. It was never this long before time began to move again. I can't get it to stop growing three inches every day, even when I'm forced to trim it. Pretty soon, you'll be able to climb it."

Bae took his time bending to retrieve her fallen drawing pad, if only to avoid making the mistake of pulling her hair again. He resisted the urge to flip through the pages before he handed it back to her. She gasped when she accepted it, holding it to her chest like it was her long-lost child returned to her.

"You like to draw, huh?" He tapped the center of the drawing pad, but she didn't pull it away. Instead, she inclined it a tiny bit more in his direction.

"Oh, I love to draw! It's always been a hobby of mine. Especially the stars in the night sky! They're so beautiful and majestic and bright…like tiny lanterns glowing in the sky just for me." The passionate note in her voice brought an easy smile to his face. "Maybe while you and I eat our cookies, I can show some of the pictures to you. If you'd like to see."

Bae was mesmerized as she inched the drawing pad a little more in his direction. The alluring gleam dancing in her eyes was hard to ignore. He found himself nodding.

"I'd like that," he answered. He led the way to the bar, all the while removing the pathetic watch from his wrist and shoving it very, very deep into his pocket. Thankfully, Granny had the sense to put away the shears.

"One chocolate chip cookie, one M&M for my father, and…" Bae paused and looked to the long-haired girl. She peered into the glass container of cookies sitting on the bar, mentally devouring each one before making her selection.

"A white macadamia, please, Granny." The old woman went about filling their order.

Bae marveled at every detail of his acquaintance as though it was a goddess standing beside him. The way she batted her eyelashes with the delicacy of dandelion seeds blowing in the wind, the small dimple in her cheek, the lean stature that reminded him of a confident flower stretching toward the sky. Something might as well have fallen from the sky and impacted his skull due to the numbness plaguing his senses.

And yet he was missing the most crucial of details.

"Sorry," he mumbled again, lightly touching her elbow to gain her attention. Undivided she gave it to him, her green eyes speckled with expectation and curiosity. He kept saying that word: sorry. He bit painfully down on his tongue and stifled a gasp. "All of this trouble for a cookie and I don't even know your name."

He leaned casually against the bar, trying to maintain a clear head. Why was it so difficult to do that around her? She was a complete stranger and yet he was determined to impress her. For some reason, he didn't want her to leave this diner with a bad impression about him.

One of those thin eyebrows rose along her forehead and the dimple became more prominent. He stuck out his hand, taking it upon himself to make the first move.

"I'm Baelfire. But you can call me Bae." A fragile hand pale as the moonlight clasped his extended one. The warmth of her touch seeped into his bones.

"Bae," she tested his name on her tongue. "I like it. It's a strong name. My cursed name was Alina. But you can call me by my true name. Rapunzel." As soon as she spoke it, the pieces fit together. He should have known by the mile-long hair, but he made a point of avoiding fairy tales in this world, especially since they often made him homesick.

But he was feeling quite good about this story.

"Rapunzel. I like it." He ignored the obnoxious thumbs-up his father was making.

….

_My dearest Belle, from the moment I laid eyes on you…no, that would never work. My Belle, you and I were barely even friends when I brought you to my castle, but look at us now! You and I managed to…get married…this is not going at all the way I want. _

Rumpel growled in frustration as the ink in his pen blotted out all the lines he had just painstakingly written, the tip ruthlessly scratching the napkin to shreds. The white paper blossomed into a black, ripped mess. That was the third one! He was trying to figure out his vows to Belle, but it was no good. He could not seem to translate what he felt for Belle into proper words.

A shadow flashed across his field of vision and he glanced up to see Bae settling into the seat across from him once more. A cookie had been placed in front of him in offering, the white napkin underneath it mocking the ruined tatters of the one by his elbow.

Bae rubbed his hands together and he looked rather pleased with himself.

"One M&M cookie. Don't worry; I counted how many M&Ms there were and you got the one with the most," he said, pointing to the cookie he had set down in front of Rumpel. It was about time. Bae had left their booth over thirty minutes ago. Young love.

"How did it go with Storybrooke's finest hairdresser?" That reminded him: he really needed a trim in preparation for tomorrow's special occasion. Maybe he would get it free if he obnoxiously dropped Bae's name here and there. Bae grinned, hinting at the prognosis.

"I'm meeting her here for coffee later this week," he announced. Rumpel eyed his son expectantly, wondering if there was more. That was it? Coffee? Was that the sign of a romantic spark these days? Or was that simply how two people did it in New York?

"Ah, I see," he murmured, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm. He took a bite of his M&M cookie, his attention roving over his ink-stained napkin. "At least one of us is lucky in love today. I, on the other hand, cannot seem to write my vows."

Rumpel snatched up the hideous napkin and ripped it into tiny fragments, the scraps snowing over his menu. Bae grimaced.

"Calm down. I'm sure whatever you plan to say to Belle tomorrow will be good enough. She'll be happy with it," he assured his pouting father, clapping him on the shoulder. Bae removed it awkwardly when he understood that his father still wasn't convinced. "What sort of vows did you make to my mother?"

Rumpel flicked one of the paper snowflakes. That was just the perfect place to draw inspiration from—his first failed marriage.

"Something along the lines of….I promise to be the best husband I can be, to love you and honor you with all my heart as long as I shall live," he recited from memory. Or partly, anyway. It was over three hundred years ago; just look how true those words proved to be. Of course, Milah broke her vows first.

"So, why can't you say something like that to Belle?"

Bae made it sound so easy. Maybe it was because he was still young. Well, younger than his father and the Blue Fairy, anyway. Even so, he didn't view the world through rose-colored glasses. He had faced more hardship as a child than little orphan Annie times ten.

Rumpel stared at the pile of confetti in misery. He carelessly swept it off the table, which would have earned him a scolding from Granny on any other day. It seemed she was going easy on him since he was on the cusp of being a married man.

"Bae, I can't say any of that to Belle. She deserves so much better. I'd rather tell her that I want our marriage to be an adventure unlike any she's had before, that I would offer her the entire world if she only asked. I want to tell her that I will be there to catch her every time she falls and allow her the freedom to spread her wings when she needs it. If I must lie, it would only be to lie with her all the nights of her life; I would bring tears to her eyes only out of laughter and happiness; and one thousand roses would never be enough to express my love. I just…don't know how to tell her."

Bae drummed his fingers on the table and leveled a patient, yet serious stare at his father. That was when it hit him.

Oh, he could kiss his son right about now, but neither of them wished to endure that public embarrassment. Instead, Rumpel perked up in his seat and tore another napkin from the dispenser. Then he went to work scribbling every syllable he just spouted and more.

…..

They agreed to a simple wedding, nothing overly extravagant. A small ceremony, with anyone in Storybrooke who wished to attend excluding threats like Regina. Even so, Belle found herself double-checking every simple detail, penning it in a list that was creased and crumpled from having been pored over for so long.

"Flowers, check. Papa's sold out of red roses. Dinner, check. Granny's catering…charging extra for pickles and cherries…"

Belle wandered dreamily about the kitchen with her hair in a messy bun and the list in hand when Rumpel arrived home. His cane must have alerted his presence, but all Belle did was hold up a finger to ask for a kind moment. He was astounded to say the least—not really by being ignored by his fiancée, but because he had never seen Belle in a frenzy before.

Even while handling the frequent chores in his Dark Castle, she had calmly gone about her work without question. In the beginning, perhaps to test her obedience, he had tacked on extra laundry and dirtied the dishes worse than usual. He had requested straw at a faster pace and demanded that each stair be scrubbed in the main hall. Yet Belle had attended her duties without any detectable fret. Once, he even stumbled upon her humming as though she were strolling through the forest!

This was different. This was personal. Her lip was in danger of being chewed off by those pearly teeth. She hadn't even settled down to lose herself in a book since they returned from New York. It worried him to no end.

Finally, she stopped moving and her brilliant blue eyes flashed to his tired face. That was a sight he wouldn't mind coming home to everyday.

"Oh, good, you're home. Granny sent over another tray of those samples for our cake. I didn't think it'd be right to try it without you," she said, hastily uncovering a foil-covered plate. Underneath were two squares of cake from the diner. Belle stuck a fork in the nearest one—an oozing, fudge-filled cake with thick white icing—and offered a piece to him before he could even respond with two words. "Here, try it."

Belle stuck the fork in his mouth and his tongue accepted the lump of cake. She eyed him hopefully as he chewed. As he cringed.

"A tad bit too sweet, even for me. If Granny serves that cake, you'll run up the dentist bills for the entire town's population. Don't tell Granny I said that." He wiped his mouth free of frosting and knew it'd be hours before that sweet taste subsided. Belle tilted her head as she revolved the plate to reach the second square of cake.

"Why is that? You'll offend her?"

Rumpel approached her side as she scooped out a piece of the second square. This one didn't appear to have as much frosting, though it was decorated with creamy pink roses. He shuddered to think what Granny would make the little decorations of the bride and groom for the top look like.

"Offend her? Very optimistic of you, Belle. Put it this way: you'll be a widow 24 hours after the ceremony," he replied dryly. Belle smiled, a light teasing upturn of her petal-soft lips. She actually thought he was joking. "That one wasn't a quip," he murmured into her neck. Belle rolled her cornflower eyes to the ceiling.

"I happen to think Granny's a sweet woman. What harm could she possibly do to someone like you?" Rumpel made a disconcerting noise in the back of his throat.

"Sweet?" He made it sound positively vile. He pointed to the first square of cake. "Don't let her fool you. That cake is the exact opposite of Granny. I'll let you in on a little secret, dear…that woman is the only person in this town who frightens me. Don't tell her I said that, either."

Belle allowed the fork to hover in front of his mouth and guided it in after it opened. He rolled the piece of cake around his mouth and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not as sugary…but something is missing," he said, licking his lips. "Have you ever considered an ice cream wedding cake?"

Belle blessed him with a musical laugh, the kind that made his heart soar above the clouds. She wrapped up the remains of the two squares of cake and set them aside. That wretched list was back in her hands in seconds.

"I'll see what Granny can arrange. I've never had a cake mixed with ice cream before," she admitted softly while running a delicate fingernail down the list. He frowned thoughtfully at the tinfoil-covered tray on the counter. It seemed good help was hard to come by these days.

"I thought Granny already finished our wedding cake. The woman charged me over two hundred dollars for it. A little sloppy on her part to be starting it the night before our wedding," he remarked. Granny was many things, but sloppy wasn't one of them. Belle's finger paused on the list.

"Technically, she did. It's not a bad thing to keep my mind open to other possibilities, is it? I…just might be having second thoughts about the cake. It's last minute anxiety, I suppose," she sighed. "What if it rains? Or the cake topples?"

Weariness draped her fragile frame like a thick coat. He touched her faintly on the elbow, willing her to face him. He urged the list from her fingers and tossed it carelessly to the floor.

"I'm not one to say this often, but everything will be fine. The cake, the guests, the weather…I don't give a damn about any of it. And neither should you." He tenderly stroked the apple of her cheek, trying to gauge a reaction from her. The tension seeped from her muscles and he could tell she was beginning to see reason. "I know you want our big day to be special, but, sweetheart…the only part of this ceremony that matters to me is the moment when you and I shall be joined together in holy matrimony, in name, man and wife, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part. Our happy ending."

Understanding crept along the outer edges of Belle's irises, pure love coloring them brighter than the evening star. Sapphires could spill freely at his feet and he would bet that their shine and hue paled in comparison to Belle's glistening orbs. His hands cradled her chin, his thumb stroking the spot on her jaw where her pulse raced like a stallion's hooves, yet remained rhythmic as a nightingale's wings.

"You're right," she agreed tiredly. "I shouldn't be worrying about any of this tonight. I've never been married before. There are so many emotions waging war inside me—I don't know how my body can store it all! I'm excited, happy, nervous, worried…and maybe a little afraid."

Rumpelstiltskin would never understand how a woman could possibly endure so many emotions without exploding right out of her dress. He had enough trouble balancing one emotion at a time.

"I'm sorry—" He silenced her mid-apology by pressing a finger to her lips.

"No need to apologize. Everything's been taken care of. My only request? Be brave. It's always suited you," he advised. Into the security of his embrace she fell, his arms circling her waist. Taking hold of his cane, he used the end of it to nudge the list away from Belle's feet. "Now, it's the last night before our wedding, so I propose we spend it together in peace. No frantic worrying, no furrowed brows. How about you run down to Clark's and pick out a movie for us to watch? I'll handle the snacks."

Rumpel pulled away from her long enough to remove a handful of dollar bills from one of his inner suit pockets. Belle gratefully accepted it—he would only insist that he had enough money lying around as it was—and hurried to shrug on her coat and head for the front door.

Belle could honestly say she'd never had a movie night before.

….

If there was one thing the people of Storybrooke were, it was helpful.

Belle wondered if she really looked conflicted as she scoured through the bin of movies in Clark's convenience store or if everyone simply enjoyed pitching in with their friendly suggestions. There were so many movies to choose from—she found herself picking up two or three at a time with wide-eyed wonder, her blue eyes devouring the summaries on the back of the thin boxes. She tucked some under her arm for consideration and constantly questioned which kind of movies Rumpel would like.

This one? Or how about that one? Did he enjoy comedies that made him laugh until his sides hurt? Or these gory horror movies that should be worthy of a cringe or two?

It only made her head spin faster to have several of the townsfolk pulling her interests in several different directions.

The dwarves recommended _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_—all except Grumpy, who blatantly insisted that his attitude was nowhere near as sour as the angry dwarf in the cartoon. Nor did he sport such a long beard. Belle had considered that one deeply, but figured Rumpel would be a little _too _entertained by the fate of the Evil Queen and laugh himself into a coma.

Granny thrust _The Hunger Games_ into her hands, claiming it was the movie of the year. Belle took one look at the description and dropped the movie as if her fingertips had been burned. Why, that movie didn't sound cheerful or exciting at all! It sounded absolutely dreadful and despairing. Children battling to the death; what kind of entertainment was that? There had been enough tragedy in the Ogre Wars back home.

If Rumpel feasted his eyes on that, he would probably request it to be banned from the town.

Red suggested _Lady and the Tramp _instead. In the same breath and under Granny's critical observance, she offered Belle a free order of spaghetti so that she and Rumpel could romantically re-enact the spaghetti kiss. This world had such strange manners of kissing. On the back of the movie box for _Spiderman_, two people were actually kissing upside-down! What would Rumpel think if she tried that?

She made a mental note to experiment and find out.

"Having trouble finding the right one?" Belle's head shot upwards, her concentration between _Pretty Woman _and _Titanic _shattered. She smiled warmly as she met Jefferson's eyes over the bin of movies. "Between those two, I recommend _Titanic. _Do me a favor and record it. I'd give anything to witness Rumpelstiltskin sobbing into a ball of Kleenex. Next time he steals my hat, that video would go viral."

It was usually a rare sight to see Rumpel shed tears, though he seemed to be softening up now that his dark curse was broken. She replaced both movies in the bin, much to Jefferson's obvious disappointment.

"Rumpelstiltskin swore he never cries while watching movies," Belle said, drifting around the corner of the bin to reach Jefferson's side. She had to take a step back when he exploded with laughter that rang out through the store. People in other aisles raised their heads in concern.

"Then you obviously don't know your fiancé as well as you think," he guffawed. He wiped a drop of moisture from underneath his eyelid. "Why do you think he claims to hate the movie _Lassie? _Or _My Girl? _He calls it allergies."

Belle's fingers grazed the spine of the _Titanic _box again. It was only a moment of weakness out of picturing Rumpelstiltskin being in touch with his emotions. Maybe it would do him some good.

Another second and her hand dropped to her side. This was the night before their wedding. There should be no sadness or tears between them, only happiness as they thought about what lay in their future. Tonight would be the start of it.

"It's good to see you up and about, Jefferson," Belle sincerely stated.

She wrapped her arms around Jefferson's middle and offered him a hug. He gradually returned it, resting his chin on the crown of her head. She had missed him in New York. It occurred to her that she hadn't had the decency to pick up a T-shirt or cap for him.

"It's good to have you back, Belle. I can never get used to Granny's tea. Way too strong. Don't tell her I said that." One of these days, Belle seriously needed to have a chat with Granny and find out why Rumpel and Jefferson were so intimidated. Did she have a habit of grabbing them by the necks and tossing them out of her diner like troublesome boys?

Jefferson raked a hand through his unkempt hair. He looked like he just stepped out of the hospital, though he looked far better in his cravat than the sheer hospital gown.

"Emma ratted me out to Whale. No more seizures…or Jell-O. Though, I've had the _Bewitched_ theme stuck in my head for hours. Do you have any idea how maddening that is? _Duh-duh, duh-duh_…" Jefferson made a show of twirling his fingers along with the tune and Belle couldn't hope to stifle the giggle that rose in her throat. It was a shame Rumpel wasn't here to record this moment himself. "Emma, Henry, Grace, and I are having a movie night of our own."

Jefferson leaned over the bin of movies and examined several titles. Belle placed a hand on his elbow to steady his posture. If he leaned any farther, he would fall into the bin. She didn't agree that Jefferson was worth as little as five dollars.

He stuck his fist into the pile and pulled out a movie called _The Sixth Sense. _It didn't seem too pleasant to Belle.

"Ever since I got Grace back, I found out she has a thing for horror movies. It's something she shares with Emma. As for me, I have a feeling Emma's personal bubble will be invaded a couple times. I hate horror movies," Jefferson said, even as he dug out a crisp five dollar bill from his pocket. He paused as his eye caught something else in the movie bin. He fished out another movie and handed it over to Belle. She gasped when she recognized the title. "That one should be good enough for you and your fiancé."

Belle caressed the cover of the movie. She'd never seen it before, but she couldn't deny it resonated deeply with her heart. Her lips silently mouthed the name: _Beauty and the Beast. _It matched the book that Jefferson had given her in the asylum, the very same version.

"Here, my treat," Jefferson insisted, pulling out another five dollar bill from his jeans.

She started to protest, but he had already snatched up both movies and slapped them down on the counter to check out. Sneezy quickly rang them through and accepted Jefferson's money. Belle was hesitant to grab the plastic bag as Jefferson extended it to her.

"Jefferson, don't be silly. You don't have to—" She tried passing over the money that Rumpel had given her for this occasion, but Jefferson folded her fist over the bills. He was resolute, incorrigible.

"A five dollar movie doesn't even begin to cover the cost of everything you've done for me, Belle. Consider it my wedding present." He guided the plastic bag with her movie into her hands and tipped his head to her. She relented in her protests, though she already had plans to make him a hat to prove her gratitude.

She pressed the material of the plastic bag against the movie inside, reading the title through the sheen of white. Rumpel's money was still curled in her fist, unspent. Maybe it was impulsive, but she chose another movie from the bin.

"I'll take this one, too," she told Sneezy over the counter, laying the movie down. He scanned it and his eyebrows rose at the selection. He sneezed a couple of times, the first one out of pure surprise. "Bless you." He thanked her and tucked the movie inside the bag with the other one.

"_Titanic_, eh? That one will make you cry," he replied, sniffling. Belle offered up her money and cradled the two movies to her chest.

"So I've heard."

…

Popcorn? Check.

Drinks? Check.

Blanket, lights dimmed, the movie inserted into the DVD player? Check, check, check.

Belle squirmed on the couch, hopelessly trying to find a comfortable spot while coaxing away the sudden excitement fluttering in her belly. She settled for curling up against Rumpel's warm body and resting her head on his shoulder. His arm draped around her waist to hold her infinitely close as the commercials for old movies swam by on the screen.

This would be a peaceful night between them. Their last before the big day. Before they were married, husband and wife.

"Have you ever seen this movie before?"

Belle tilted her head toward his face, curiosity glowing in her blue eyes. The question caught him by surprise and he fumbled with the remote, the language abruptly shifting from English to French. He corrected it and made an effort to avert his gaze.

"Never," he whispered, his lips barely shaping the word. His hand absently stroked her hair, twirling a few of the strands around his fingers, his eyelids narrowed to slits and glued to the colorful moving pictures on the screen.

The main menu had come up, a tiny golden rose symbol flickering next to the word 'play.' Animated pictures blended swiftly into one another in a heartwarming slideshow, a preview of what was to come: the beauty clad in a sensible blue dress with a book in hand; an enchanted red rose glowing inside a vase, the petals drifting lightly down; the elegant ballroom with crystal chandeliers and the two loves gliding across the marble floor with a familiar golden dress…Her eyes instinctively darted to the door, where their own ballroom existed down the hall. There was even an image of a chipped cup flitting past on the screen, though this one apparently talked.

"It reminds you of me," she realized with a heavy heart. No wonder the man had avoided it like the plague. It would have been easier to record his bittersweet memories in a journal, the pages stained with his tears, than to indulge in a movie based on what little time they spent together in that other world. "If you want, I can turn it off and—"

Belle reached out for the remote that was still clenched in his fist, but he jerked it beyond her reach. His eyes tore from the screen to grace her face instead.

"No," he disagreed rather firmly. "I may not have seen this particular movie, but I have seen _Titanic_. Once was enough for me."

With that, he punched the play button on the remote and the screen immediately turned black. Belle decided not to badger him about it and cuddled beside him to watch the tale unfold.

Right from the get-go, Belle was enchanted. Subtle, silvery notes flowed from the television; the film opening with a majestic waterfall that reminded Belle of the one Rumpel showed her the day he taught her to swim. Beyond that was an ancient castle, a colorful stained glass window depicting the events of the story foretold by the narrator.

It captivated her as though a fairy had touched a powerful wand to her head and cast a spell. It made her heart race with anticipation, her nerves tingling, her legs coiling and uncoiling on the couch…

"Please. My castle was five times bigger than that ruddy thing," Rumpelstiltskin interrupted Belle's amazement. The curl of his lip showed just how impressed he was so far. He always was a bit overprotective about his castle. Belle tossed him a disappointed look, which he pretended not to decipher. "What? Are we out of popcorn already?"

"At least that castle's curtains are open to the sunlight. Not nailed down," she teased. It earned her a gasp of disbelief, his hand pressing against his suited chest in astonishment. She used the moment to her advantage and thrust a handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth. "Watch the movie."

Belle took his leisurely chewing as a sign of agreement.

_For who could ever learn to love a beast? _

The dreary last line of the narrative opening, mingled with the image of that dark, despairing castle, brought a tiny hint of moisture to Belle's eyes. A silent tear rolled across her cheek and soaked into Rumpel's collar. The way his grip on her hip tightened suggested his emotions faced as much turmoil, if not more. It was that very notion that festered away in the core of his being long before she brightened his heart.

She patted his shoulder reassuringly. This tale would have a happy ending, she was certain of it. So would their tale, as tomorrow would have it.

It was a lucky thing the movie brightened considerably after that. Though, Belle felt it to be a little surreal to watch a different version of herself wishing for adventures beyond a provincial town, especially with all the townsfolk singing about how strange she was.

"How accurate is this tale?" Rumpel exclaimed in her ear. She didn't realize she was frowning so heavily until she released the tension from her brow. Rumpel waved his hand madly toward the screen, as if he could somehow make the movie more pleasing with the snap of his fingers. "Did the people in your sacred little village ever call you strange, Belle?"

A note of danger tainted Rumpel's silky tone. For so long, she had tried to forget what it was like to walk among the people in her father's kingdom, to overhear the word _odd _flanking her heels and never having the courage to confront them on the matter. She had always wanted to be brave. Instead, she had shielded her humility behind a book and carried on her way.

"A woman, even one of royalty, who prefers to spend all her time with her nose in a book and head in the clouds is considered strange in our land," she sighed against his chest, the comforting fabric of his suit caressing her skin. Gently, his finger caught her chin and tilted it so that she could gaze into his face.

"A woman like that is an intelligent one to me. One who does not waste her time with petty gossip and trivial affairs. One who makes sense of the world by finding the answers in crisp, yellow pages. That is a woman who possesses more bravery than the whole town put together. Sounds like my kind of woman," he drawled. He succeeded in reviving her smile. "Those people should thank the gods I no longer have my magic or they might be reduced to escargot by now."

Belle was suddenly glad he didn't have magic, either.

"I'm sure the people of my town were grateful to be saved from the destruction of the Ogre War." He snorted in response, but went back to watching the movie. The songs were cheery enough, the emotions cutting across like a tidal wave, and Gaston…

Belle learned quite early in the movie that Rumpelstiltskin was content with hating and insulting Gaston's character. She could never recall her former fiancé being that rude or narcissistic, but that didn't matter to Rumpel. He hated the character all the same.

Twice she heard him muttering under his breath and pouting: "You miserable, disgusting cockroach! How could she even fall for a gag-worthy, hopeless, blundering fool like you? If you were a doormat, I wouldn't dare wipe my feet on you!" Seeing him all worked up made her laugh a little behind her hand.

Her favorite parts had to be the musical moment of _Be Our Guest_ and the scene in the snow when the two were obviously falling for each other. If only she had stayed at the Dark Castle long enough to see the following winter snowfall—she would have enjoyed having a snowball fight with Rumpelstiltskin.

There was something there, indeed.

"I'm glad the silverware in my castle wasn't enchanted," Rumpel bellowed. Belle thought the talking cups, candelabra, and clock were charming. "If I had my sleep disturbed because my furniture decided to put on a song and dance, every one of those spoons and forks would be waltzing their way out the window. Who can sleep with that ruckus?"

He huffed while Belle simply burst out laughing.

"Lucky for me then that you never let me go hungry. Someone would have had to replace all the silverware," she replied. Even the first night when she had served him his supper and returned to her drafty dungeon, convinced that she was to suffer an empty stomach, a tray had materialized outside her cell with the food still steaming and enough to offer her a satisfying fill.

Rumpel's mouth quirked with a smile and she wondered if he was thinking of the same night.

"I'm not that cruel a beast, am I? Besides, you were dainty enough as it was." Belle blushed as she imagined Rumpel admiring her thin curves in that golden dress. There was a warm feeling in her chest the next time she turned her focus to the movie.

And suddenly, Belle took back everything she previously thought about her favorite scenes. Each one became lackluster in comparison to the moment when the beauty and the beast floated hand-in-hand onto the marble dance floor.

The mural of heavenly angels on the ceiling, the glow of the candles, the way that the two dancers were helpless to take their eyes from each other as they swayed together…Belle fought the demanding tendrils of exhaustion to witness the romance of that scene. _That is the way I hope we will be…happy…dancing forever…_

The delicate music, woven purely from love, rocked her along on the irresistible wave of sleep, the romantic scene and the feeling of hope still dancing behind her eyelids.

…

At first Rumpelstiltskin had scoffed at the idea of spending a night watching _Beauty and the Beast_, but he had squelched his doubts and agreed to it for Belle's sake. Plus, he wasn't interested in watching Rose crow about never letting Jack go a second time.

Somewhere along the line, his heart had become invested in the animated movie. Maybe it started with the scene in the snow, but he had grown quiet, his complaints stifled in the back of his mind. His eyes hardly tore away from the screen, especially during the ballroom dance. It eclipsed with the memory of dancing with Belle across their ballroom floor, one of his loveliest memories of her.

And then the ending…

The ending had him mesmerized.

The sight of this version of Belle weeping over her dying beast, the wisps of smoke that enveloped his body and finally parted to reveal a human man….Rumpel nearly forgot to breathe through the intensity of the lump in his throat. The movie ended happily as many children's movies do, but Rumpel sniffled once or twice to see its climax. Must be allergy season.

"I suppose that wasn't so—"

He shifted his head to the side, expecting to see an ethereal glow in Belle's blue eyes and a teasing remark about how he really liked it, but her eyelids were closed. Her soft breath whooshed in and out over the lapels of his suit. Asleep.

The poor thing hadn't even been able to last the entire movie, which meant she would likely be inquiring about it tomorrow morning. It was one thing to read it in a book and another entirely to watch it play out on a screen.

For now, he kissed the crown of her head, savoring the feel of the weight of her body curled up beside him. Then, ever so carefully, he detached himself from her and rose to his feet, reclining her tender form on the couch so as not to stir her. He shut off the television, deposited the half-eaten bowl of popcorn in the kitchen sink. He would deal with that in the morning.

Dishes were most likely going to be the least stressful activity tomorrow.

He gulped nervously. _I'm getting married tomorrow, _he remembered, the reality all at once hitting him with brutal force. _Re-married. I'm getting re-married tomorrow, _he mentally corrected. Suddenly, his mind swarmed with overwhelming doubt. What if he couldn't be a good husband to Belle? What if he tried to give her the world and make her happy, only to miss by a mile?

The idea of getting married was both exciting and frightening, both a relief and something that made him weak at the knees. But he knew, without question, that he wanted it to happen. No more making excuses; no more skipping out on his happy ending every time it came around the bend.

He wandered into the living room again and leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching Belle doze blissfully. Even in sleep, her pink lips were shaped with a smile. Was she already dreaming of their big day? Of spending forever with him?

Silently crossing to the couch, he tossed his cane away and scooped her lithe form into his arms. He shrugged his shoulder to encourage her arm to drape itself around his neck. Then he proceeded to carry his fiancée upstairs to their bedroom. No longer did he have urgent need for his cane, not when he had his Belle to lighten his burden.

In the bedroom, he set her down carefully on her side of the bed and tucked the blanket to her shoulder. He placed a brief kiss on her cheek, a tiny wish of goodnight and sweet dreams.

"Tomorrow, you and I will be together," he whispered into her ear.

Exhaustion wormed its way into his weary bones and he used the last of his energy to dress into a pair of pajamas and tumble into bed. But, just before his mind fell prey to the numbing surge of sleep, he heard one last sound. A pleasurable sigh from Belle's side of the bed, her small hand tunneling under the blanket to entwine with his own.

"Finally."

…

**You can see a picture of the old View-Masters on Wikipedia (can't post a link here). Anyone else remember these? I figured since Jefferson's telescope probably isn't powerful enough to view New York while Emma is gone, this might be the next best thing for him. Also, I chose the name 'Alina' for Rapunzel's cursed name because it means 'bearer of light'—a nod toward her glowing, magical hair in Tangled. **

**As always, I have to thank those that reviewed last chapter; thank you everyone for your support. Here's a shout-out to Huntress4455, IggyInin20218, dianadaughter98, csuecad, Romance and Musicals, Jennifer, Grace5231973, Paola1967, Rumplefan, MyraValhallah, RentFan27, actressen, kirauza343, The Auburn Girl, Hyourin, discotimelord, cheesyteal'c, SwanQueen4055, and Chesire Illusionist. **


	49. Chapter 49

Throughout his time in this land without magic, Rumpelstiltskin had come to appreciate the accessory that was the tie, just as he had grown accustomed to wearing the most fashionable of suits day in and day out. His suits were elegant, powerful, and superior to common clothing while maintaining a flourish of style much like his beloved leather attire in the Enchanted Forest.

He was a man who always liked to dress his best for all occasions.

Ties fascinated him even more than the precise selection of his suits. They came in a wide assortment of silks, colors, and patterns. Often, he was partial to choosing the tie color that matched his mood. There were many ways to wear them, too. Sophisticated and tight at the throat for a formal air or loose and carefree, though he never dared to loosen his tie in public to make him look like a drunkard who just stumbled from a shifty bar where women wore less clothing than Regina. Why, ties were even useful for…more…_personal _occasions. Often between two people behind closed doors. Not that he ever tried such intimate folly with any woman including Belle, but he heard it was quite popular in this world, specifically in the pages of soppy, passionate romance novels.

Gods, he hoped Belle hadn't discovered that genre yet. With the way she absorbed information like a human sponge and desired to experiment with all she learned, he would never leave this house alive.

Today of all days, ties had become his worst enemy.

His mind was frazzled with thoughts of the nearing wedding ceremony and he couldn't seem to remember how to fix his tie the way he liked it. He fought with it several times, his mood quickly shifting from a nice clean white to the deepest red, his brow knitting worse each time he had to start over until he despised the grim-faced figure that was his reflection in the guest bedroom's mirror.

"Need some help with that?"

Bae stood in the doorway, looking rather amused that his old man failed to even fix a tie properly. If he wasn't so nervous, it might have been easier to control his fingers. He dropped his hands to his sides and glared at the loose tie in the mirror, two strips of silk hanging over his chest.

Bae took the grumbling as a _yes_ and hurried to his father's side. Rumpel was grateful for his son's assistance, but he hated it just as much. It was pathetic how he needed help with a tie like he was some kind of…invalid.

"Do you have radar for every time I'm under duress without magic?"

He watched as Bae's fingers skillfully flipped and worked with the smooth material. He made it look so easy. It reminded Rumpel how much magic had become his crutch, depended on for even the simplest of tasks. He felt like an alcoholic attending AA.

"Papa, if I had radar for every time you stressed out because you've exchanged magic for manual labor, I think my head would have self-destructed by now," he replied, stifling a chuckle in his throat. Rumpel didn't laugh at that remark at all. "The Blue Fairy's still wrapping things up, making sure everything's the way it's supposed to be on this big day. She caught a glimpse of you in the mirror and she warned me that if I didn't come up here to help you, your glare would give her nightmares. Either that or the mirror would sail down the stairs like a surfboard."

Rumpel narrowed his eyes dangerously at the mirror over Bae's shoulder, his lips stretching back from his teeth. The Blue Fairy had been one of the volunteers to decorate the wedding strictly for Belle's sake. Apparently, she thought it was her duty to check up on the participants as well. The repulsive eavesdropper.

"Feel free to tell that conniving jellyfish to keep her nose out of mirrors where she's not wanted. Next time I'll give her an image that will surely keep her awake at night," he growled. Of course, it also meant he would have to say fifty Hail Mary's before coming within fifty feet of the "nuns" ever again. Not that the restriction would break his heart.

"Jellyfish don't have noses," Bae muttered under his breath. He rubbed his palms together in accomplishment as he finished with the tie. Rumpel stepped around his son to check his appearance in the mirror. He fingered the perfect knot in his tie. Not bad.

"Oh, this one does. If she were Pinocchio, that nose would be a good ten feet by now," he shot back hotly, turning his body this way and that to view himself from every possible angle. He rotated in a full circle, lingering longest with his backside facing the mirror. Bending close to the glass, he tidied up his dusty brown hair. He bared his teeth again, pretending to examine his gums for stray pieces of lunch. He ran the tip of his tongue over them nice and slow.

Bae rolled his eyes.

"Papa, stop trying to exact revenge on the Blue Fairy. Remember: she has centuries-old magic and you don't anymore. In other words, she's more than capable of turning you into a bag of pixie dust and sprinkling you all over the forest."

Rumpel whirled around to pout at his son. Whose side was he on? Besides, it wasn't like the jellyfish with wings had the gall to do such a thing. Every one of her endeavors had been hopeless in his eyes. _Oh, yes, that little blue wand is frightening, _he mocked silently.

"I'd like to see the ancient ball of space gas try to—"

It happened while he had his back turned to the mirror, a mistake on his part. A crackle of blue magic erupted from the mirror and zapped his behind. It stung worse than if he sat on a firework. He yelped and spun around, but the mirror was just a mirror. Oh, but he knew that she was watching and enjoying this, the no-good my-magic-is-better-than-yours Twinkle Toes.

"Aren't we the brave one? It takes a lot of courage to fire at a man with his back turned, _dearie. _Why don't you float up here and try that again? I dare you! Who invited you, anyway?"

Before he could bottle his anger, he snatched up his cane and drove the gold handle into the glass. It cracked, resembling an intricate spider-web. He smashed it again and the pieces rained to the floor. His breaths came quick and heavy, but he had enough sense to unfurl his fingers from the cane.

"I think I speak for both the Blue Fairy and I when I ask…Feel better?"

Bae bent to retrieve his father's cane while being careful to avoid touching the pool of glass. Rumpel stowed the cane away quietly and brushed his recently shined shoe over the shards of glass, guiding them into a pile. He was surprised to find his anxiety subsided as swiftly as his anger.

That…felt…good.

"Yes. I feel much better. Mentally, anyway," he admitted. Physically, he rubbed his palm across his sore behind. He hoped there wasn't a mark. It might make the wedding night awkward when trying to explain the story to Belle. At least Bae seemed to be in good spirits.

"You know, most people take a shot of alcohol before their wedding to ease their nervousness," he pointed out. He led the way from the guest room with his father in tow; it was nearly time to take their places for the ceremony.

"Not Snow White. I have it on good authority that she was firing arrows in the forest the morning of her wedding. Perhaps she was practicing for those moments in marriage when she gives Charming the cold shoulder." Oh, how he would love to see Charming lined up against a tree with an apple balancing on his head while Snow let loose an arrow.

"Oh, Belle, you look absolutely perfect," Red's sultry voice broke through Rumpel's entertaining thoughts.

He noticed that his bedroom door was slightly ajar by an inch, with Red's words slipping through in soft, encouraging tones. He knew it was considered bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, but his pace slowed anyway. His head craned in the direction of the bedroom door, where he heard a distinct rustling of fabric.

"Papa, don't you dare," Bae warned from where he lingered on the top step of the staircase. He thrummed his fingers impatiently on the rail, but Rumpel ignored him for the time being.

He kept his steps quiet and careful as he drifted closer to the door, a single sliver of light spilling across the shadowy hallway floor. From this angle, he glimpsed a hint of the bedroom with the bureau positioned next to the door and the mirror in the corner. Now if he bent his head just right, perhaps he might see…a flash of white…

At the instant that Bae jerked him backwards, the crack in the door widened and instantly filled with a single shade of red. Strawberry, to be exact. Red's face swam in front of him as he gained his footing, her painted lips scowling. She flicked her sharp nails at his chest.

"What do you think you're doing here, lover boy? Don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding? You'll just have to deal with your pining. Shoo!" Red waved him off and slammed the bedroom door in his face. He stared at it in bewilderment. He had never been kicked out of his own bedroom by a wolf before.

"Come on. The ceremony's starting soon," Bae reasoned, tugging on his arm. "Besides, you might want a couple of minutes to practice your vows again." Oh, right. Those. He patted his suit pocket to make sure the napkin was there. He had pored over it thousands of times, the scribbled words seared into his brain. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Rumpel barely argued as Bae accompanied him down the stairs, the lines of his vows circling his head. He hoped Belle would like them well enough. They were finally getting married. _This is it. _

…_._

_This is it, _Belle thought, taking slow deep breaths to calm her pounding heart. _In a few minutes, I'll be a married woman. The wife of Rumpelstiltskin. It's finally coming true for us. _

She studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. Red had helped her get ready as she had done for the ball before joining the others downstairs. No doubt she was giving Rumpel the scolding of his life for trying to peek. And just like before the ball, Red pulled out all the stops.

Belle's fingertips stroked the creamy satin of her wedding gown—a princess-style one without sleeves, the fabric rustling every time she moved. Belle chose not to hide the scars marking her arms and wrists like a second set of veins. Once, they might have been gruesome to uphold; now, she was proud of them. She would endure thousands of scars such as these if it meant honoring her love for Rumpelstiltskin. Not even the Queen had the power to erase him from her heart.

Her skin glowed magnificently as though embedded with roses and pearls, her chestnut hair had been fashioned exquisitely atop her head with only a few strands spiraling down to frame her face. Belle chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip and then released the bobby pins Red stuck in her hair. The curls cascaded past her bare shoulders, tickling her neck where they landed.

Rumpel always did prefer her hair loose and free. She sighed as she imagined his fingers delving into it.

A knock at the bedroom door demanded her attention and she met Jefferson's eyes in the mirror. He scrutinized her up and down, but not in a flirtatious, desirable manner. It was more of a mixture of pleasant surprise and sadness; like an older brother trying to come to terms with the fact that his little sister was about to be married.

"What are you doing up here? You're supposed to be down there with Emma," she lightly reminded him. It gave her a warm feeling in her chest to think Jefferson and Emma were becoming so close to one another. They deserved their own piece of happiness.

"It's an unspoken rule that the groom shouldn't see the bride before the wedding. No one ever said anything about wedding guests," he replied. He exhaled softly, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. "I remember my wedding day. One of the happiest days of my life over _there_," he murmured nostalgically.

He stepped further into the room. Belle picked up her skirts and met him halfway to embrace him. His hand pressed gently between her shoulder blades as he returned her friendly affection. He held on longer than necessary, almost as if he were saying goodbye.

"Are you saying I should wait until we go home to marry Rumpelstiltskin?"

She pulled back from the circle of his arms and was relieved to see a smile tugging on the edge of his lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a promise of what could be. The only time she had seen a full-toothed smile on him was when he spent time around Emma, Grace, and Henry. His family.

"No, I'm saying…I'm happy for you. It's past time you deserved your happy ending, don't you think?"

Belle found it impossible to contain her love for Jefferson at that moment. It pulsed through every cell of her body, tingling along every nerve, making her jaw ache from the weight of her smile.

This was a different kind of love than the one she shared with Rumpel. This was the devoted loyalty and love of a friend whose support she could not have stood without. After all, he was the one who helped free her from that wretched psych ward, who defied the Queen time and again in her name, who risked everything to keep her alive. She would never be able to pen enough words in a blank journal to express her gratitude to him.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up with the brilliance of fireworks.

"Oh, I have something," he said, holding up a slender finger to beg for a moment of patience. He searched through his pockets until his face softened with relief. From inside his jacket, he revealed a lovely blue flower. Peering closer, she realized it was woven from silk with a pin hot-glued to the back. He had made it for her.

Stepping forward, he placed it among the curls of her hair, clipping the pin together so it would stay.

"Something borrowed, something blue," he whispered. Belle had the sneaking suspicion that Jefferson would conveniently 'forget' to retrieve the flower after the wedding. She examined it from every angle in the mirror, her lips rounded in an amazed 'O'.

"Oh, Jefferson, I love it! Thank you," she exclaimed proudly, fingering the flower with the delicacy of a morning dewdrop. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him once more. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. He had always been a gentleman in her presence.

"Go get your happy ending," he murmured, winking.

Another knock arose from the door before she could answer. So many visitors today. This time, it was her father. She breathed a sigh of relief—even though he claimed to accept her marriage, she wondered if he would actually pull through for her. He was notorious for changing his mind without a second's notice.

Jefferson dipped his head politely to her father, though his lips were pulled into a tight line. His cheeks flamed up in what Belle recognized as embarrassment tinged with modesty. What had her father said to Jefferson? Her friend wished her good luck one last time and offered her a moment alone with her father.

"Alright, how did you two meet and what happened to make Jefferson's face redden like a tomato?" Belle gestured to the door that Jefferson had scrambled through less than thirty seconds ago. Her father squirmed inside his suit guiltily, averting his gaze to the mirror.

"He and I were introduced through Ruby downstairs. She explained how much of a good friend he was to you. I might have made a comment…about how you might have married him instead," he said, shrugging. Belle frowned and glanced toward the stairs as though Jefferson might still be there. Jefferson, Red, and her father—oh, my. "It was only a joke, Belle. Honest."

Her shoulders slumped under her father's apologetic gaze. She didn't want to argue with him today. Or ever, for that matter.

"Just don't let Rumpelstiltskin catch you making a quip like that, Papa. He only laughs at his own," she warned. Her father took a moment to examine her. His weary eyes sparkled in a way she had not seen in years, even during the time spent in the Enchanted Forest.

"Oh, Belle…look at you. You remind me so much of your departed mother. If only she were here to see this day. You're beautiful," her father gasped.

Belle's breath caught in her throat as he mentioned her mother. Her hand flew to the golden teardrop hanging around her throat. She hadn't taken it off since the night Rumpel returned it to her. This way, her mother's spirit would accompany her down the aisle.

Her father sputtered and coughed into a handkerchief, his face growing red from the effort. She hoped he wasn't coming down with something. Beyond the glass window, with the rays of the afternoon sun filtering across the floorboards, the first chimes of music flowed through the air to signal the start of the ceremony.

"Are you ready, Belle?" Her father extended his hand after pocketing the handkerchief. It was time.

Once more, Belle checked herself over in the mirror. Then she laid her hand in her father's warm palm, her arm hooking through his as he led her to the bedroom door. Into the empty hallway they emerged, down the flight of stairs to the first floor. The ceremony was being held in Rumpel's spacious backyard. With each step Belle took, her heart swelled until it became hard to breathe.

"Are you nervous?" Her father patted her hand soothingly. Belle's lips could barely form any words; her mind was a blank slate with only Rumpel's face hovering there; her wrist quivered in her father's gentle grasp. Down the hall, past the ballroom, into the kitchen, almost there…"You've always tried so hard to be brave for me when your mother was gone. It's okay to be nervous or afraid sometimes. Most importantly, I want you to be happy."

_I am happy, _she responded inside her head. No amount of nervousness would tarnish it.

They paused before the sliding glass door. Beyond it, she could see a swarm of people, snowy white decorations dazzling in the sunlight, the backyard transformed into an enchanting sanctuary of hope and bliss. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

She was ready.

Her father opened the door and together they stepped outside, onto the silver silk carpet that had been placed over the grass. It stretched like a moonlight-fused pathway, splitting the crowd into two entities and leading straight to the person who held her heart in his hands. It seemed everyone in Storybrooke had arrived, flanking both sides of the customary aisle. Heads turned to grace her presence, thousands of eyes widened in admiration and approval. Roses sprouted from tasteful crystal vases and the subtlest of spring breezes kissed Belle's skin.

But Belle took little notice of any of it.

Not Emma and Jefferson waiting for her near the front of the crowd with necks craned to get a better view, nor of Bae exchanging shy glances with a young girl, her incredibly long flaxen hair decorated with flowers and spiraling down to her waist. She was suddenly inflicted with tunnel vision, not even registering the way her feet traveled across the carpet. There was only one person whose eye she was seeking.

After what must have been an eternity, they rounded the corner of the crowd and her destination was in sight. There he stood at the far end of the aisle, waiting for her to join his side. His endless brown eyes gleamed with nothing short of love as he drank her in from head to toe. She felt light as a feather, gliding to him with only the restraint of her father's hand to anchor her down to earth.

Step by step, she and her father conquered the length of the silver carpet, the distance between her and Rumpel shortening. At the same time, it seemed all too soon before her father willingly placed her hand in Rumpel's, effectively giving her away to the man she loved. Her father retreated, pulling out his handkerchief again—this time to wipe away a fallen tear.

Rumpel squeezed her hand lightly, his thumb tracing a pattern of comforting circles in her palm. He did not stop admiring her—in fact, he appeared to be under a spell and incapable of preventing the emotion from spreading across his face.

"Like what you see?" Belle teased him. The poor man was inches away from losing control of his jaw, his lips already parting. If the entire town wasn't observing them, he might have fallen helplessly to his knees, whispering like an autumn leaf.

"Oh, sweetheart…you are beyond beautiful. I'm marrying a siren," he insisted, pressing his empty palm to his chest. Belle would never learn to expect her fiancé's dramatic whims. It was just another reason why she loved him.

The music quieted as swiftly as it started, the crowd descended onto painted white wooden benches in one unanimous motion, and so the crux of the ceremony took place. The preacher dwelled on the sanctity of marriage, the purity of love, the expectation of hard work that accompanied both partners of the relationship. He had a bit of a speech impediment, always pronouncing words like _truly _and _true love _as _twooly _and _twoo love, _the way Rumpel usually did in mocking. Rumpel winced every time the word popped out of the preacher's ancient mouth. _Twooly…twooly…twoo love…_

"I will never say that word again," Rumpel huffed under his breath, loud enough for only Belle to hear. Belle would hold him to that. The word _truly _happened to be one of his favorites.

Then it came time for the vows. Rumpel went first, fidgeting in his spot and becoming quite flustered as the spotlight centered on him alone. Apparently, he wasn't used to having so many people stare at him at once. He kept his eyes strictly trained on his bride-to-be, clearing his throat a few times before he began.

First, he declared that he could never fully prove his love to her in one thousand years' time or whilst immortal under several Dark One curses. He vowed to catch her every time she fell, reminding her of that spring day when she fell into his arms. He told her that he would gladly lie with her all the remaining nights of her life and that he hoped to only bring tears to her cheeks through happiness…

Just like he was doing now.

The tears trailed silently, reddening her skin, spilling along the curve of her lips. If it weren't for her bright smile, she was sure he would have thought her dismayed by his words. She had never read such meaningful words in any of the hundreds of books her mind devoured in his library.

When he folded up the worn, creased napkin from which he had recited his vows, Belle thought he had finished. She was pleasantly surprised to witness the contrary as he tenderly clasped her hand, his fingers memorizing each one of her own. The way he licked his lips made her pause expectantly—it was a habit he adopted every time something serious was on his mind.

"Belle, you know me better than anyone standing in this yard," he said with a cautious choice of words. His gaze flickered momentarily to his son, his devotion overshadowed by regret. "Honesty has never been the best path for me…but every word I speak is the unvarnished truth. Including this: fate has its hands in everything. I may not have realized it then, but the night I met you was one of the best nights of my life. You are brave, strong, selfless, and good—everything I wish I could ever be. You were always the flicker of light amidst the ocean of darkness that has been my existence as the Dark One. Now, I no longer need magic to sustain me. I can no longer live without your illumination. I don't want to. Here and now, I vow to be the best man I can be in your name."

Mesmerized silence radiated from the crowd. The people of Storybrooke probably never heard Rumpelstiltskin speak such incredible words of love to anyone before. Charming definitely looked stunned, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a fish. But Belle recorded every syllable deep inside her mind, hoping that the memory would never fade.

In a unified motion, the crowd's attention swiveled to her. It was her turn to make her vows. She inhaled deeply and released it through her nose, demanding calm.

"No matter how many times you choose to deny it, Rumpelstiltskin, I know that one of your favorite pastimes has been watching me read in the comfort of your library, whether it be your castle or this world; a gift of solace that I can never match." He bent his head guiltily, which made her laugh a little. He always looked adorable when his modesty reared its head. "Well, I want to share with you something I discovered from a book I have not yet finished, one of which I hope will have a happy ending same as ours.

'_I love you. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, every day we are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours._' "

Belle paused to let that sink into his mind. She heard his shaky gasp, his hand unsteady in its ache to touch her more intimately.

"You've given me everything, despite whether you believe it or not. You've given me the chance to be brave. You've given me two libraries to nourish my curiosity and provide me worlds of adventure. You protected my kingdom and loved ones from the destruction of the Ogre War. In this unfamiliar land, you have found the courage to give me your heart in return and kiss away my sorrows."

From the edge of the crowd, her father scuffed his shoes on the grass uncomfortably. Obviously, he didn't want to imagine Rumpel kissing any portion of his daughter's body before being joined together in holy matrimony. But it did little to deter Belle's passion.

"I once made the promise of staying with you forever. This is me keeping that promise. Beast or man, I vow to love you with all my heart and for the rest of my days." Rumpel's shoulders quaked with relief, a surge of admiration reflected in his brown eyes. Gently, he reached up to caress a curling chestnut lock from her jaw.

Both of them spoke the binding words of _I do _with nothing short of certainty. The bands of their wedding rings slipped smoothly over their knuckles, the gold glinting in the sunlight. Belle's ears strained as she anticipated the most meaningful part of the ceremony.

"I now pwonounce you man and wife. You may kiss—"

Before the preacher even finished his sentence, Rumpel slung his arm around Belle's waist, crushed her against his body, and planted an open-mouthed kiss on her lips. She could tell he had waited and restrained himself a long time for this opportunity. Her arms went around his neck and she eagerly returned his kiss, savoring his taste and unspoken promises as naturally as her lungs breathed in oxygen. There was nothing else but the two of them; even the festive clapping was eclipsed by the rhythm of their beating hearts.

They were husband and wife at last.

She didn't realize the respectful round of clapping had ceased until the silence became ear-shattering. Their kiss ended just as a low rumble rose from the distance. Was it supposed to rain today? Red always claimed the weatherman told more lies than Pinocchio.

Belle tilted her head to the sky, but the clouds floated by peacefully. Nothing but fluffy white pieces of cotton amidst a backdrop of turquoise. Rumpel remained calm beside her, a small smile quirking his lips. Belle opened her mouth to ask about it, but then she noticed something even stranger. Most of the crowd had turned back toward the house—not to seek shelter from an approaching storm, but to confront a more trivial matter.

The first flume of violet smoke veiled the left side of the house, instantly multiplying by illusion as it passed over the window of the bedroom she and Rumpel shared. It gathered in a massive wall, swirling and glowing with the essence of magic. The town beyond it was invisible, impossible to glimpse through the thick fog.

The tendrils of smoke snaked along the silver stretch of carpet that formed the wedding aisle. The guests scurried backward onto benches and limbs entangled on the grass in an attempt to avoid the smoke's range. Belle knew that succumbing to the unexplainable mist was inevitable. If it spread through all of Storybrooke, there was nowhere to run.

There was a sleek swish of steel as Charming drew his sword to ward it off like a fire-breathing dragon, his other arm cradling his fearless wife. Emma held Henry tightly against her, just as Jefferson consoled a terrified Grace. Belle's father sought her out with his weary eyes, only to face another coughing fit once the cloud had begun to envelop his body. The dwarves disappeared one by one, lessening in number in the blink of an eye.

The force of the storm finally embraced Belle's ankles as the purple cloud engulfed the crowd. The hem of her dress lifted breezily and she had the odd sensation of being sucked toward the cloud as though it were a raging tornado. Her hair whipped and coiled around her shoulders, writhing wildly like Medusa's snakes. The blue silk flower from Jefferson loosened from her hair, but Belle snatched it in her palm before it could be lost in the smoke. Rumpel held her close to his body, her cheek resting on his shoulder while his lips burrowed into the crown of her head. Even though he tried to shield her, she still saw enough of the mysterious fog to understand its purpose.

They were going home, weren't they? They were being swept out of this land without magic and dropped into the Enchanted Forest once more.

"Why is this happening now?" Had their kiss been so binding and powerful?

Belle glanced up at her husband, her instincts warning her that he would have the answer. It was rare for him to be clueless when it concerned magic of any kind. Just as she suspected, his eyes shined with excitement as the cloud thundered around them, enveloping everything in its path. He smiled down at Belle and guided her fully into his arms.

"This must be it, Belle. I've fulfilled my purpose in this land. I have everything I ever needed. Family."

At the last minute, Bae caught his father's extended hand, prepared to face the unknown alongside him. If they were succumbing to this void of magic, they were doing it together. Rumpel's lips found the lobe of Belle's ear while she bravely watched the cloud seep over her head.

"I love you." It was the last thing she heard before the fog consumed them all.

…

_**The quote comes from The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. **_

_**Well, I have to say this story is almost at its end. I think the next chapter might be the last one. A solid fifty chapters. But I wish to thank all of those that have reviewed last chapter—I'm glad to see so many enjoyed reading and have given me such amazing support. Here's to Huntress4455, LionshadeSC, IggyInin20218, Ems-g, Grace5231973, Hyourinmarulce, Paola1967, MyraValhallah, discotimelord, SwanQueen4055, The Auburn Girl, cheesyteal'c, White Belt Writer, and kirauza343. **_


	50. Chapter 50

_**A/N: Here it is—the final chapter of this story. I find it as hard to believe as my readers do, mainly because it was so much fun to write it. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

The wisps of violet fog parted, seeping away into the atmosphere as quickly as it had come. The sky brightened from the grim purple to a peaceful blue, uninterrupted by clouds. The sun beat heavily over their heads, casting its spotlight on their destination.

Belle slowly opened her eyes to witness the proud towers of a castle stretching toward the sun. It wasn't the Dark Castle, but there was no doubt in her mind that this was the Enchanted Forest. For one thing, the air was pure and untainted by smog like it was in the other world. The trees soared higher than any that existed in Storybrooke, creating a dense forest on every side. The waters that ran alongside the bridge of the castle sparkled with a reflection of the castle on its surface, a smooth mirror that kissed their ankles.

Many of them were gathered on a strip of beach with the castle looming in the distance, every face similarly awestruck. Snow and Charming appeared particularly emotional, blessedly absorbed in each other's embrace while drinking in every detail of their home. Belle laughed as Henry bounced on his toes in excitement, ready to race off toward that castle and explore its wonders. It was his dream come true.

"Where are we? What is this place? It's unlike anything I've ever seen," Sidney exclaimed from his spot several feet away. He gawked openly at the castle, his hand clutching his fedora hat to keep it from blowing away in the wind.

Belle bit her lip guiltily. She'd forgotten about Rumpel's first test subject that had inadvertently wiped the genie's mind clean of his true identity. She hoped the Blue Fairy would be able to fix it. The reporter was scribbling madly on his notepad, probably thinking he could turn this into a fantastical story.

"You there! Would you care to give me an exclusive?" He started rushing after Jefferson.

Belle was still hung up on the dilemma of Sidney Glass when she felt an arm drape her shoulders. Sidney was quickly forgotten as a pair of warm lips nuzzled her neck. She smiled up at her husband.

"Welcome home, Belle," he whispered over her slightly parted lips. Butterflies danced through her stomach, her body instinctively leaning into his touch…up until the point his head jerked up with his finger raised to the sky as if a light-bulb had clicked on. "By the way, you two lovebirds wouldn't happen to have a carriage to spare? It's a bit of a journey to my castle, as you know."

He pressed a firm hand to his chest, inches from batting his eyelids at Charming. Belle had the suspicion that he simply wanted to play a game of "my horse is bigger than your horse", should Charming insist on debating over the elegance of their respective castles.

"You have a castle, too?" Henry studied his paternal grandfather with growing fascination, his brown eyes gleaming with a thirst for all things mystical. No doubt he would want to visit the Dark Castle just to explore every nook and cranny. And personally experiment with any bottled ingredients Rumpel still had lying around in his library.

"Oh, yes. The biggest castle in this land, if I do say so myself. You should pay it a visit sometime; perhaps on the days your other grandparents require a little _reconciling_ in their bedroom," Rumpel blatantly suggested, followed with a wink that brought a fresh shade of tomato-red to Snow's face. Emma's mouth twisted sourly. "Now, about that carriage? My lovely wife and I have much to discuss in private under the flickering glow of candlelight. It'll take all night long."

"TMI," Emma roared, shaking her head like a dog shaking off water. "I really didn't need that mental image in my head." She rubbed her hands over her arms in an attempt to will the disturbance away. Bae was one step behind her on that awkward parade.

"Easy for you to say. He's not your father," he retorted, giving Rumpel a look borne of embarrassment. Unfortunately, the comment only made Emma spin toward her happily cuddling parents and she shivered more.

Belle hid her inching smile behind her hand. Charming was fazed for a moment, his head swiveling between Rumpel and Belle. What did he think they were going to be doing on their wedding night? Playing checkers and singing duets? Swift anger flushed his neck as he opened his mouth to protest, but Snow lightly nudged him silent with an elbow to the ribs.

"You're family. I'm sure there's a carriage around here somewhere. I recommend the scenic route," she complied. Rumpel grinned at her approvingly. He knew there was a reason he always liked Snow White. The fairest of them all exchanged a fond glance with Charming, as if the two were keeping a juicy secret.

"Speaking of our dysfunctional family," Emma intercepted, her green eyes rotating from Snow and Charming to Rumpel and Belle. "Where's Regina?"

Their savior looked to each of the members of her extended family, but all any of them could do was wear expressions of cluelessness. _If we're lucky, _Rumpel thought wryly as he led Belle along the strip of sand in the direction of the castle. _She'll have had a house dropped on her. _

Either way, the Enchanted Forest appeared to be a few shades brighter than the day they left it behind.

* * *

><p>It was dark, as it had been for days now. Darkness had become Regina's enemy, companion, and lover. There wasn't a slice of light to interrupt the black void that was her world; nothing except the darkness and the sound of her own breath to rock her to sleep.<p>

When was day? When was night? She had no clue anymore. There were no mirrors—she was beginning to forget what she even looked like. She must have slept in small intervals, anyway, because there would always be a tray of food just inside her cell door. Stale bread and lumpy soup.

Was this how that sniveling, goody-two-shoes princess felt during her imprisonment? Not that Regina shared empathy with the girl. No, it made her hate the bookworm all the more. She was as nauseating as Snow White.

Yet, through the malevolent shadows of her cell, Regina sensed something changing.

One moment, she was dozing in a flat, cardboard-stiff mattress in that cramped closet space. The next time she awoke, her cheek was pressed against something cold and grainy. Even the pillows weren't this rough. As she rose up on her elbow, she sensed that there was more space available to her than in the psych ward.

Had the little heroes moved her without her realizing it? How could they possibly accomplish that?

Regina groaned and gradually stumbled to find her footing. The pads of her bare feet recoiled from the damp floor. After about a day of confinement, her beautiful black heels hurt her feet too much to wear. Now, she wished she had them on again. This floor was filthy! Sand and pebbles caked and lodged between her toes.

Where the hell had they taken her?

She stilled her body long enough to listen to the sounds emerging from the darkness. Only her breath rose and fell in unsteady gasps; there was no one else here. There was an unnerving _drip-drip-drip_ as water fell from the ceiling. The scurrying claws of rats made her jump, their squeaks piercing the air.

There were _rats?_ What kind of place was this? A basement?

Like a blind person, Regina stretched out her hands to grope around and get a feel for her new surroundings. There was no bed at all—it was an empty cage. The walls weren't smooth, instead jutting with solid rocks and sharp crevices. Around in a circle she went, mentally mapping out her cell in her head. Eventually, she reached the front of the cell where the door should be. Her fingers closed around something narrow. Her other hand wrapped around a similar bar, testing its strength with firm squeezes and tugs. Did they stick her in some kind of underground jail cell?

Underground.

Jail cell.

No.

Instinct niggled along the nape of her neck as she slowly brought her fists down, her palms sliding across the bars. Down, down, down…until she reached the thinnest point of the bars. Down further and the bars began to thicken again. Spikes. Jaws that swallowed her whole and refused to spit her out.

Regina frantically backed away from the bars, a familiar image popping into her mind. She had a sickening feeling about where she was. Just to test out her theory, she raised a hand palm-up in the air. It trembled with fear as she willed her magic to come. A drop of it, a tiny flame in her hand, anything. She squeezed her eyes shut, channeling her magic with every cell in her body.

Nothing happened.

_No, _she moaned inside her head. _No, no, no! Those pompous fools! _

Rage consumed her senses, enough to conjure ten fireballs. While the holier-than-thou Charmings were galloping about, harboring _her_ son, being a _family_…she was trapped in _here_. Trapped inside Rumpelstiltskin's old cell in the Enchanted Forest, doomed to starve without the replenishing wealth of magic.

Emma's last mocking words echoed in her head. _Karma's a bitch. _

"Hello?" She cried out into the darkness, willing the torches to light and a single footstep to fall on the gritty trail leading to her cell. But the only sound that returned was a distorted mimic of her own as her voice bounced off the walls. "Can anyone hear me? _Hello!" _

So much for her happy ending.

* * *

><p>Bae stood on the threshold of the balcony branching off what was once meant to be Emma's nursery. Tomorrow, the Charmings were redoing it and transforming it into Henry's bedroom before getting too familiar with the duties of the kingdom. It was hard to believe Emma might have learned to walk and talk in here, but the curse sucked that chance away not ten minutes after her birth. Ripped away, just like the families of countless others.<p>

But Bae wasn't thinking about any of that.

He was thinking about _her. _Rapunzel.

Where had she been dropped after that purple mist disappeared? Was she happily reuniting with her own loved ones? Or was she stranded out there in the Enchanted Forest to fend for herself? Would he ever see her again? It bothered him that he didn't know the answer. His legs ached from standing in one spot too long, but he didn't dare move as his eyes swept over the green horizon.

A door closed behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to meet Emma's gaze. He nodded briskly.

"Henry finally got his wish. He and Grace have gone off with Jefferson and Char—I mean, my dad to learn how to ride a horse 'the real way'," she informed him, hooking her fingers into air-quotes while mimicking her father. Or was that how she mimicked the hatter? It made him smile faintly. Her cheeks glowed bright pink as she struggled with getting used to having parents.

"He'll need to learn if he wants to become a real knight, right?" He replied, but both of them could tell his heart wasn't in it. He was too distracted by the unexplainable worry he felt for Rapunzel even though he'd only met her no more than two days ago.

Bae heard Emma's hollow footsteps as she crossed to his side. From the corner of his eye, he watched her lean on the other doorframe of the balcony and peer into the seemingly everlasting forest beyond the castle.

"You're worried about her," she spoke after a few strained beats of silence. It wasn't a question. She stated it like a cold-hard fact of life. _You're worried about her. The sky is blue. The trees are green. The sun will rise tomorrow. You're worried about her. _

His lips flattened into a thin line, nearly turning white from the pressure. Emma was involved with Jefferson now, but for the first time Bae had to wonder what she really thought of Rapunzel. The two of them had been introduced at the wedding and Emma was polite enough, but she was also good at shielding her emotions. It came with the thieving her taught her ages ago.

"Emma, if the idea of me getting close to Rapunzel bothers you—" But she waved it off with a quick shake of her head. Whereas Rapunzel's hair was pure golden, Emma's was several shades lighter, almost ghostly blonde.

"If I were bothered or…jealous…which I'm not…do you think I'd be putting stock in a relationship with Jefferson?" She scoffed at him, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. "I just suddenly understand how you felt in Manhattan, when I told you I didn't want to be with you. It's hard to let go of the past; nobody knows that better than me. But I'm happy that you've found someone who might make you happy," she assured him, one corner of her mouth lifting in that half-smile he always used to love. He returned the smile, feeling that everything might turn out decent in this land.

Maybe things were starting to look up.

"Bae," a tiny voice shouted his name.

Emma's eyebrows arched with unadulterated surprise. A blue glowing ball rocketed over the balcony. As it practically flew up his nose, Bae recognized the Blue Fairy, reverted to her true form. The only time she showed up out of the blue—no pun intended—was when an urgent matter called for it.

"What did Rumpelstiltskin do now?" Emma moaned from where she stood across from Bae, her eyes studying the wide expanse of forest below. Luckily, there was no black smoke, unexpected fireworks, screams of torment, or uncontrollable forest fires.

The Blue Fairy regarded Emma with a respectful air-bow.

"So far? Nothing devastating that I know of. I think Belle will be able to distract him until tomorrow afternoon," she said rather calmly. Emma threw her hands up in the air while a disgusted groan erupted from her throat. Bae cringed at the mental image of his father's wedding night. "Bae, I need you to come with me. Immediately."

Before Bae could ask about the problem, the Blue Fairy added two words that vanquished all reluctance.

"It's Rapunzel."

The name echoed in Bae's head, weaving its own unique heartbeat. He quickly looked to Emma, who encouragingly nodded toward the door. Then he dashed from the room faster than if flames were licking his heels.

...

* * *

><p>Not far from Prince Charming and Snow White's castle, buried among the mountainous pine trees, was a tower. No castle attached to it—just a singular stone structure rising from the roots and layered with moss. There was a window at the top; the only one, as a matter of fact. Bae shielded his eyes against the sunlight that poured through a hole in the canopy of the trees, but he couldn't see anything beyond the sill.<p>

Despite the eerie stillness of the tower, he smelled lilacs mixed with summer rain and he knew somehow that it wasn't anything to do with the way the tower smelled or the forest surrounding it. She was here.

"Up there, she waits," the Blue Fairy pointed while hovering like a glowing dragonfly over Bae's shoulder. "This has been her home for as long as she has lived in the Enchanted Forest. She knows nothing of the world beyond the tower's walls. That is why she was returned here," the Blue Fairy explained patiently.

Bae's heart convulsed with sympathy for Rapunzel. What must it be like to be confined to a world so small, with only those gray walls to hold you? What was it like to watch the sun rise and set through that window and never know the land in which its golden beams melted each day? It would be madness to smell the scent of the pine trees, to watch the sun peak in the sky, to hear the music of the birds and to never be part of it. That window was Rapunzel's mirror into that world, showing her something she wanted but could never have.

Suddenly, Bae realized that he and Rapunzel had once ridden in the same boat. Both had been stuck in worlds they wanted so desperately to escape.

"Who did this to her?" Someone she loved? Someone she trusted to protect her as Bae had loved and trusted his father as a boy? This went beyond overprotectiveness and a fear of losing a child. This was strictly imprisonment.

Bae found himself holding his breath as the Blue Fairy smiled sadly, her fingers rumpling the glittering powder blue fabric of her skirt.

"It's no coincidence that this tower rests a short distance from Snow and Charming's castle. Now, don't look so stern—it had nothing to do with them, I assure you. That castle originally belonged to King George before Snow and Charming conquered it. He and his wife ruled it for many years. Their marriage was a bitter one, riddled with poison and spurred by power. That poison only spread when his wife succumbed to a barren curse—a powerfully dark curse that shrivels a woman's womb and prevents her from ever giving birth to a child."

_Magic, _Bae mused bitterly. It always came down to magic in this world. Bae scornfully kicked a flat rock, uprooting it and hurtling it noisily against the base of the tower.

"What does that have to do with Rapunzel?" The Blue Fairy zoomed forward, her wings flitting faster than his eyes could follow. She tapped him on the nose with her wand. He rubbed it, mostly to make sure it didn't stretch like Pinocchio's.

"Patience," she warned. When he offered nothing but silence, she continued. "King George was furious that his wife was unable to bear him an heir, leading him to make a deal for one in the trickiest way possible: through your father. That's a different story, though, and now is not the time to tell it. Mother Gothel—that was King George's wife—desperately longed for a child of her own, one that would not be corrupted by King George's hands or those of the Dark One. A little girl."

"So, she stole one and locked her in a tower?" Bae tilted his head decisively. After a tense moment, the Blue Fairy nodded gravely.

"In one of the neighboring kingdoms, one that had since fallen into King George's rule, a queen had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. Mother Gothel went to see for herself. The child had skin the shade of winter, the eyes that shone like spring, and long golden hair that seemed to be made of the sun itself. Needless to say, that was the child Mother Gothel wanted. In the dead of the night, she returned to that kingdom, infiltrated the castle, and stole the child.

"Mother Gothel had dabbled in the dark arts of magic before, a fearsome gift she never shared with her husband because of his thirst for power over everyone in his kingdom, including her. From the forest, she constructed a terrible tower to hide away the child, cloaking it from those who wished to find her. She refused to bring the child back to George's kingdom, afraid to watch something else die under his influence. It was to be her secret."

Bae raised a finger to stop her from going on.

"If this Mother Gothel was fluent in magic, why not conjure a child instead of stealing one?" He shrugged his shoulders inquisitively.

"The same reason your father always bartered for the children he collected. The price was much too staggering for any person to pay. Just as the dead cannot be brought back to life after their time, so new life cannot be breathed into an infant that was not born naturally. But Mother Gothel did pay a price for her secret: the acceleration of her aging. King George assumed it was brought on by grief of the barren curse.

"Every day she visited Rapunzel in this enchanted tower, her hair sprouted a few more gray wisps and the skin around her eyes would wrinkle. She would run her fingers through Rapunzel's golden hair, begging for it to give her true wealth in the form of beauty…but it never did. At one point, Mother Gothel had become too weak to leave her bed to visit the tower. Her price was ultimately paid through an early death and the secret of Rapunzel died with her. It was by chance that I broke through the ring of magic circling this tower, but even I couldn't release Rapunzel from her prison. Only one person can do that."

"Me," Bae murmured, only vaguely aware of the Blue Fairy's nod. His father was right: fate had its hands in everything. He scanned the tower as it rose above his head. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Rapunzel!"

He cocked his head to the side to listen. The fluttering of birds' wings and the wind rustling the leaves were the only sounds he heard for several seconds. Then, at the very top of the tower, a familiar golden head poked out of the window.

"Bae? You found me," she exclaimed with obvious relief.

"Careful," he warned. "The Charmings might get offended that you're borrowing their romantic line." His father usually complained that Snow and Charming should just embroider that line on matching T-shirts. He studied the tower, traversing around it in circles. He scratched his head quizzically. How did Mother Gothel do it? "I'd love to stop shouting at you from down here, but I don't have anything to climb."

"I do," Rapunzel announced, disappearing from the window. He gawked openly at the Blue Fairy, but she wore a surreptitious smile. If Rapunzel had a rope up there, then why couldn't she just—

"Incoming," the Blue Fairy screeched.

Bae glanced up and suddenly wished he hadn't. The bundle hit him square in the face, knocking him to the ground. He swam in a pool of gold until he untangled his limbs and scooted away on the forest floor. Then he realized what she had tossed down.

Hair. A snaking rope of golden hair, hanging from the tower window. Of course.

Bae experimentally grasped the hair in his fist, testing its strength. He hoped the tugging wouldn't hurt Rapunzel too much. Planting one foot on the base of the tower, he slowly began to climb as he would scale a mountain, the rope of hair threading through his fingers.

It was a long way to the top. Twice he had to pause in his progress to blink beads of sweat from his eyes. That…and he was listening for any sign of discomfort. There wasn't so much as a squeak.

What would Rapunzel's marriage bed be like with all this hair? Not that he was entertaining the fantasy of marrying her one day after potentially being her rescuer. That…would be…ridiculous.

With every step, every roll of his muscles, every inch of hair being memorized and rubbed by his palms, he drew closer to Rapunzel. The sound of his pounding heart drummed in his ears, his breath coming in quick pants. Finally, he reached the window and hoisted himself up on its sill, tumbling into the tower. His strength left him as he sprawled on the cool stone floor and gasped for air.

A golden halo of light danced in his vision, followed by a gentle hand cupping the back of his neck. A cup was brought to his mouth, lukewarm water slipping past his lips. It was water all the same, so he thirstily gulped every drop.

"Thank you," he rasped afterward.

The cup was set aside and his head tilted back until he found himself gazing into the spring green eyes of Rapunzel. She brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, tenderly chewing on her lip. He smiled at the same instant she did.

"Are you mad? _I_ should be the one thanking _you_. You're the one who scaled a tower for me. Supposedly, only my true love has the strength to do that," she replied softly. True love? Bae tried to wrap it around his mind. She and he were…true loves?

Rapunzel paused in weaving her fingers through his hair. He sensed what was coming next and he freely opened his mind to it, his lips parting soundlessly.

Her hair tickled his cheek as her head bent. Her mouth met his in a chaste, sweet kiss, a promise of what may be if only they had the courage to let it flourish. The taste, the tingling sensations firing away in Bae's body…there was only one word to describe what passed between them. Magical.

"You're just in time to watch the stars come out," Rapunzel whispered wondrously, helping Bae to his feet. He took her hand in his. Together, they stared up at the darkening sky as it began to glow with millions of diamonds. The blue evening star shined especially bright tonight.

...

* * *

><p>"It's good to be home," Rumpelstiltskin sighed blissfully, smoothing his palms over the cold stone of the windowsill in his bedroom. The stars blinked in the night sky, shining bright as jewels. His breathing quickened when he heard the whisper of Belle's gown behind him. He was going to enjoy this night with his wife, no matter what hell may break loose over the Enchanted Forest.<p>

"Are you finished with re-familiarizing yourself with your castle?"

Belle lightly tiptoed her fingers up the length of his clothed spine before rubbing his shoulders. He tilted his head back in response to her delectable touch. Her body pressed firmly against his back, her hands sliding their way down his chest, tempting him to turn into her arms. His fingers gripped the windowsill as a shudder of pure pleasure thundered through his body.

"Let me see," he murmured, his accent thick and raw as he fought to control his raging desire. His hands spread across the windowsill one more time, savoring the coolness that rivaled the fire building between his legs. He gratefully curled into Belle's embrace. "Yes, I'm finished. Now, I'm free to broaden my horizons and familiarize myself with other lands. Starting…right…_now."_

Cupping the back of her head, his mouth eagerly sought hers, pressing tenderly against her rosy lips. She opened her mouth to his tongue and he plundered it greedily, memorizing every last inch. He sucked gently on her bottom lip until she moaned, which in turn made him moan just as deep.

Her hands dropped to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling blindly with them in an effort to free his scalding skin. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her kiss to collect her small hands in his, placing soft nips on her knuckles.

"Patience, sweetheart. We have tonight," he reminded her, though she mewed in disappointment. He captured the sound with his lips, then proceeded to trail them across her velvety neck. "We have forever," he whispered in the shell of her ear. Taking the lobe of her ear into his mouth, he made her weak at the knees, his name hovering on the tip of her tongue.

Rearing his head back for fresh air, he gazed longingly into those pools of crystal blue. The intense love reflected there, combined with the subtle pink blush of her cheeks, offered him a glimpse of the passion they would share tonight and all the nights to come. _So be it, _he surrendered fully to its seductive allure.

In one swift dip of his knees, he scooped his bride into the cradle of his arms. She gave a surprised yelp, followed by a pleased giggle while she clung fiercely to his shoulders. He laid her atop their marriage bed and her fingers grasped handfuls of his shirt, tugging him down to meet her.

Finally, they ceased to exist as two separate halves. Instead, they thrived together as one entity, their love blossoming like the delicate rose adorning the bedside table.

There were no thorns to be found.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The End. <strong>_

_**For those of you who are interested, I might have another idea for a Rumbelle story in the works. I'm playing around with it a bit, but we'll see if there will be more Rumbelle goodness to come. For now, I would very much like to thank all those that have supported this story to the end and gave me such awesome reviews. I couldn't have gotten this far without my readers encouraging me onwards. Here's to Huntress4455, discotimelord, SpeakerofTaleandLore, LionShadeSC, MyraValhallah, Grace5231973, Jennifer, cheesyteal'c, SwanQueen4055, Hyourinmarulce, The Auburn Girl, and kirauza343. **_


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